


Of Winds and Moons

by rieraclaelin, the_dangerous_ginger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Human Castiel, M/M, Tags will be added accordingly in the notes, Vampire Castiel, Vampire Dean Winchester, Vampire Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:24:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 70,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rieraclaelin/pseuds/rieraclaelin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dangerous_ginger/pseuds/the_dangerous_ginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester bloodline is everything they say it is; pure, sacred, and powerful.<br/>They haven't been heard from in many years, but they've always been there, lurking in the shadows and quietly ruling over their territories.<br/>When the eldest, Dean, emerges from his hermit life, he's underwhelmed by the state of human development. To him, they were still petty and nowhere near ready for all of them to acknowledge the presence of the things that go bump in the night.<br/>That is until he meets a bright eyed human named Castiel.<br/>~~<br/>Castiel loathed vampires with every fiber of his being.<br/>Why?<br/>At the tender age of eight, his entire family was slaughtered by a pack of them while he played in the blackberry thickets.<br/>His absolute worst nightmare would be to be turned into one, he'd honestly rather die.<br/>So when he wakes up from a near fatal attack newly turned, he's furious.<br/>Though the tension between he and his new sire is high, they'll soon be forced to work together to save the rest of the human race from an evil neither have ever seen before...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative work between rieraclaelin and the_dangerous_ginger. Tags for this fic will be added accordingly.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

_ _

 

_July 7 th, 1995. Pontiac, Illinois _

~~

 

_Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky._

Castiel gleefully sang the lullaby to himself as he weaved his way through the blackberry thicket, the summer air warm around him. He dropped a few more berries into the wicker basket he was carrying and continued to sing.

_When the blazing sun is gone, When there nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night._

He cast a glance up at the darkening July sky, deciding it was time to head back home.

_Then the traveler in the dark, Thanks you for your little spark. He could not see which way to go, If you did not twinkle so._

His bare feet skipped across the dirt quickly, following the winding path out of the hollow where his favorite thicket resided. Stopping for a moment, he pulled a few wildflowers for his mother and sister out of the ground and added them to his basket, giggling when a small bee buzzed past his nose.

_When the blazing sun is gone, when there nothing shines upon. Though I know not what you are, Twinkle twinkle little star._

He was racing over the small rise connected to their driveway, excited to show his mother, Naomi, his treasures with purple stained fingers, when he heard it.

His mother had screamed.

Castiel had heard his mother scream once before when a snake slithered its way underneath his rocking chair, and wondered curiously if she’d found another.

He bounded his way down the rest of the driveway, basket swinging wildly enough for him to lose a berry or two and end up stepping on them. Castiel didn’t mind though.

Momma would wash his feet and hands of their purple color.

Momma would ruffle his hair and thank him for her flowers.

Momma would take the berries he collected and make a bit of jam from them.

When he reached the front steps to his house, he pushed the door open and called loudly for his mother, “Momma, I’m back! I brought you surprises, too!”

He padded his way through the living room, finding his father in his usual spot with the newspaper in his hands, fast asleep with his head at awkward angle. He crept past him quietly as to not wake him

Castiel would later learn that his father was not actually asleep. Neither was his sister, Anna, and his brother, Gabriel, was nowhere to be found either.

A loud thud and voices sounded from the kitchen, drawing Castiel towards it.

He rounded the corner, talking animatedly, “Momma, you’ll never guess what I saw-!”

With a terrified gasp, he dropped his basket, the berries rolling across the kitchen floor.

A tall, dark skinned woman had his mother in her grasp, head buried deep in the crook of her neck. She detached herself from his mother, letting her drop limply to the floor, and strode towards him, a bloody grin stretching across her face.

He stood, frozen in place, as she neared closer until she was a few feet from him. That’s when his brain and body came to an agreement and decided now would be a good time to run, his father and siblings forgotten.

Sprinting down the hallway, he headed for the front door only to skitter to a stop when another woman stepped in his way. This one was even taller than the first, with creamy white skin and had long, pin-straight blonde hair.

He cried out and struggled violently when the dark one seized his arms, holding him still with cool, strong hands.

“I bet this one will taste _delicious_.” She hissed from behind him, tightening her grip on his arms and causing him to cry out.

The blonde crouched in front of him, assessing him with eyes the color of icebergs, just like the ones his father always read to him about. Her lips were painted a deep red and her smile was bright when she bared her teeth to him.

She drew a long, sharp fingernail down the side of his cheek, wiping away the tears streaming down it. With a blindingly quick motion she nicked the underside of his jaw with her nail, causing him to whimper in pain.

She studied the drop of blood with inquisitive eyes, pink tongue snaking out to catch it before it fell. She hummed appreciatively at the taste and flicked her cool gaze back to him.

“Leave this one. He may be of use to us one day.” She smiled again, a cold wicked thing, but this time he could see the sharp incisors grow out into sharp points.

This time, it was his turn to scream.

_~~~_

 

Castiel shot up straight on his bed, gasping and panting for air. Each pull of the warm morning air was like a burning drag inside his lungs and his heart hammered in his chest.

_It was just a nightmare. It’s okay, you’re okay._

“T-the date is May, 15th, 2015. M-my name is C-Castiel Novak, and I live in Newport, Rhode Island. I am alive and I am safe.” He stuttered out loud, just like the grief counselor told him to all those years ago. He repeated the last line a few more times quietly until he felt calm, his breathing and heartbeat steadier.

He cursed himself silently as he threw the blankets back, peeling himself out of his now sweat drenched clothes. He was twenty-eight, dammit, he shouldn’t still be having nightmares about something that happened almost twenty years ago.

He padded over to window of his small apartment, unlocking it, and pushing it open, he relished in the warm May air that drafted through.

Even though he was enjoying the small breeze, he didn’t linger long.

He told himself it was because he needed to be leaving soon, but it was more about how he’d been feeling the last few weeks; like eyes were always on him, like the shadows watched his every move, and he was never truly alone.

It was silly, he knew that, but even then, he didn’t stop himself from putting the small, palm-sized silver dagger into the hidden pocket inside his briefcase.

Shaking off the remnants of the nightmare, Castiel made his way to the bathroom. It was early enough he didn’t have to rush to get ready, but he still made the shower a quick one, washing his hair and body in record time because of the apartment’s water heater.

He had a love, hate relationship with his small apartment.

He hated how the hot water didn’t last for more than five minutes, and less than that in the winter. He hated the leaky pipes under the kitchen sink and the never ending fight to try to fix them; but, he also loved that it was his. It was his place to come to after work.

It was home.

A home that didn’t constantly remind him of that day all those years ago. It didn’t remind him that they never found his brother, and couldn’t save his mother. The walls didn’t taunt him with their hidden secrets, and the floors didn’t mock him with their red and purple stained past.

To this day, the mere sight of blackberries made his breath stutter in his throat. He hadn’t even eaten one since that day either.

Toweling his hair, he walked, nude, back into his bedroom. He pulled a pair of navy boxer briefs and black slacks, then went into the small kitchen. He enjoyed being able to stroll through the house, barefoot and shirtless while he fixed his coffee.

He wouldn’t be able to do that around anyone else.

No, the dark ink spanning the width of his shoulders and back prevented that.

Too many questions about why there was a huge, tribal-style dragon with wings soaring across his shoulders and tail curling at the base of his spine. Too many questions about what was in Hebrew surrounding it.

He didn’t want to have to explain that the tattoo was in remembrance of an entire family wiped out, the names of each member and their surname written in a series of short, thick lines and curves. He didn’t want to tell anyone about walking into the tattoo shop with the only cash he had, and sitting through two ten-hour, grueling sessions of pain without uttering a word or so much as a grunt of pain.

So, he savored the time alone in his home, free to do whatever he pleased.

He supposed that a normal guy, fresh out of college, just starting a job a year ago with an apartment of his own, would lead a more… exciting life. One with a woman hanging off every limb, or a man, Castiel didn’t judge, but, nonetheless, that wasn’t him.

Not at all.

He’d only told his two closest friends, his only friends really, about that situation, leaving Balthazar to stare at him in horror and Hannah to smack him on the back of the head for ‘being so damn dense’.

Such loving friends he had, really.

In hindsight, telling his only friends that at the ripe age of twenty-eight that he was still a virgin was not a good idea by any stretch of the imagination.

Now, with his favorite mug, one with a cartoon bee on the side saying ‘Bee Happy, Drink Coffee’ emblazoned on the side, filled with hot coffee and scalding his right hand, he could feel the dread seeping into his pores.

Both Balthazar and Hannah had insisted on taking him to a new bar later that evening after work. To say he wasn’t looking forward to it was a complete understatement.

The thing that really bothered him is that the bar was in town and locally owned. Castiel already knew just about everyone and their second cousin here, so the chances of him ‘scoring’, as Balthazar would call it, were not very high, at all.

He’d reluctantly agreed to go after constant pestering from them both, pretending not to see them high-five behind his back.

Castiel drank his coffee and took in the senses around him, another coping method the counselor had taught him for when anxiety or grief consumed him, or even if the silences became deafening.

He started with sight, taking in the view before him.

Directly in front of him was the small table and chair set for his kitchen, to his left the stove, refrigerator, and sink. One of the cabinet doors was open slightly from where he’d grabbed his mug, leaving the mismatched plates and hard plastic cups inside exposed.

Taste and smell were done in unison, as he took another sip of his coffee. The bitter, smoky taste of the dark roast he liked sitting on his tongue, while he inhaled the robust and bold smell.

He could hear the street starting to come to life through the open window, which wasn’t saying much, really. The occasional old car being cranked to life and the murmur of voices was pleasant. Newport was quiet and small, just like his apartment, and he liked it that way.

He could faintly hear a radio playing the morning news a few doors away from him.

Finally, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to _feel_.

He could feel his heart thump steadily in his chest, his breathing deep and even, and his pulse controlled and calm. The wood of the chair was scarred and rough in places against his bare back, and smooth in others. The mug in his hand no longer scalded him, but was comfortingly warm against his palm.

He needed to get ready soon. He had an entire day of teaching Theology at the university in front of him.

So, with that thought in his mind and his coffee finished, he spoke one last time to the open, silent air around him,

“The date is May 15th, 2015. My name is Castiel Novak, and I live in Newport, Rhode Island. I am safe and I am alive.”


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> Tags:  
> panic attack
> 
> ~K & J

With the last student gone and the final paper graded, Castiel sat back heavily in his desk chair. He checked the time on his watch and sighed inwardly.

He had approximately five and a half minutes before Hannah and Balthazar came to fetch him.

At this point, with dread unfurling low in his stomach, he considered trying to sneak out.

There was something about their plans tonight that didn’t quite sit well with him.

It wasn’t who he was going with, he’d known Hannah and Balth for almost a year now, Hannah being the university’s English Lit professor and Balthazar the head Musical Arts instructor.

It also wasn’t the bar they were going to either. He knew of the owner well enough to know they were human, so that wasn’t a concern.

No, Castiel knew what it was, and to say he didn’t like it was an understatement. The feeling he was being watched had been like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch all day.

Sure, one could argue that it was the fact that he was a professor and had students watching for eight hours a day, when they weren’t sleeping of course.

Castiel knew differently, though. He loved his job, and he’d stepped into teaching just as easily as he’d learned how to do it. The weight of forty students’ gazes had no effect on him whatsoever, not when he was doing what he loved. He may be awkward outside of it, but inside his classroom he had full control.

The way he felt now though, staring across the rows of empty seats, was so much different from that. He felt as if someone was trying to look _inside_ him, like he was some sort of enigma or puzzle they just couldn’t solve.

It was utterly unnerving.

Luckily, he didn’t get the chance to get too caught up in his thoughts, because the door to his classroom was banging off the wall.

A loud and brash, “Cassie!” was hollered from across the room, and he watched as Balthazar sauntered down the terraced rows of desks with exaggerated grandeur.

The sandy haired man was the exact opposite of Castiel and then some. Where Castiel was quiet and reserved, Balthazar lived his life loud and wild. Balth also out ran him in the sexual aspect of their lives that it was almost alarming. The man jumped from bed to bed almost as much as he drank.

Hannah, who was following behind him with a grimace on her face for being so loud, was the harmony of the three. She could be both wild and reserved, quiet and loud if she needed to be. She had just broken up with her boyfriend, whose name eluded Castiel completely, a few weeks ago and had told them she was going to ‘ride solo for a while.’

“Up you go, now. We have places to be and people to do tonight Cassie, and they won’t wait forever, no matter how adorable you look.” Balthazar told him as he was pulling him out of his chair.

He threw a pleading glance at Hannah, hoping by some grace of God she’d save him from the hell that awaited him. The dark headed woman merely smirked and quirked an eyebrow at him, gesturing to the door.

 _“Traitor.”_ He hissed at her as Balth pulled him up the steps.

Her laughter followed him all the way out.

~~

The ride to the bar was short. Too short in Castiel’s opinion, but he didn’t get much say in over Hannah and Balthazar’s normal banter.

He’d not so much as stepped out of his truck before two pairs of hands were fussing over him.

Balthazar was pulling off his trench coat and suit jacket, throwing both items in the cab of his truck, while Hannah unknotted his tie and ran fingers through his already unruly hair. He was being spun around to face Balthazar and given a prompt once over.

After a head shake and some… interesting noises from his male companion, his shirt was being unbuttoned a few buttons and he was being ordered to roll up the sleeves on his white dress shirt as well.

Balthazar clapped his hands together and gave him a salacious grin, “They’ll be falling all over you in an instant. Han, darling, we might just have to fend them off.”

She murmured in agreement and gave him a small high-five, obviously proud of their work.

He scowled at the pair and crossed his arms.

“This is a ridiculous idea. There is absolutely no way that this will actually work, everyone already knows me!”

Balthazar clapped a hand on his shoulder and beamed at him, “No, they know ‘Castiel The Theology Professor’. Tonight they’ll meet a brand new, ‘hot-enough-to-melt-panties-everywhere’ Castiel. Just drop the scowl and try not to do the weird staring thing and everything will go perfectly.”

_Weird staring thing?_

He couldn’t even form the question before his friends were walking away from him and towards the entrance to the bar.

Despite his anxiety ratcheting up with every step, Castiel followed them inside, squinting at the abrupt change in lighting.

The bar was dimly lit but clean and spacious, with booths lining the left walls and the large half-moon shaped bar dominating the right. Sounds of quiet chatter and the occasional laugh emanated from the few people already inside.

When his eyes fully adjusted, he was able to fully appreciate how nice the place really was.

It was a more modern bar, complete with a dance floor in the middle.

From the black marble that covered the countertop of the bar and booths, to the burgundy vinyl that covered the booth seats and retro style barstools with gleaming silver accents, everything seemed well put together and coordinated nicely.

Castiel may not like the fact that they came to the establishment with the intention of getting him laid, but he could appreciate a nice bar when he saw one.

The trio took their seats on the far end of the bar, and Castiel knew that they were placing him more towards the public to draw more attention to him.

After placing their drink order with the one of the two bartenders working the large bar, he sat back and observed the moderate amount of people inside.

His quiet and introverted side was beginning to get the better of him.

He could feel the anxiety burrowing deeper under his skin with every face he saw and each moment that passed. Most of the people inside he recognized, but there were a few strangers dotted throughout the booths as well.

The feeling of being watched wasn’t with him anymore, though, and the thought brought along a small amount of relief.

Castiel forced himself to relax while he made small talk with his friends, sipping his beer occasionally but really not in the mood for copious amounts of alcohol.

As the evening progressed and more people trickled in, Castiel gradually relaxed more genuinely. The easy talk between his friends was comforting, but he could tell Balthazar’s patience was beginning to wear thin.

“What about that one? She looks fun.” He told him, pointing out another female. She was teetering on high platform heels in the middle of the dance floor, drunkenly swaying to the upbeat pop song playing through the speakers.

The closer Castiel looked though, the more familiar she seemed, then it dawned on him.

“She’s one of my students, Balth.” He replied flatly.

Balthazar gave him an incredulous look and threw his hands up, apparently not above sleeping with students, and, somehow, that really didn’t surprise Castiel.

Besides, she wasn’t Castiel’s type anyway. Well, if he had a type when it came to women, that is. He tended to prefer the masculine side of the population, and with the abundant amount of cleavage threatening to tumble from the young woman’s dress, she was definitely anything _but_ masculine.

Hannah sighed and ordered them another round of drinks.

“It’s my turn.” She told them, and swiveled on her stool. Her eyes grazed over each face in the now crowded bar. She wrinkled her nose at the loud, brash group of male college students, with their distasteful dancing that some of them were attempting. Obviously not impressed with what appeared to be intoxicated air thrusting, she moved on. When she was done looking over the dance floor, she began her search through the booths.

A smile tugged on the corners of her mouth and Castiel knew she’d found one. There were times the very look on her face scared him, with the way her eyes lit up with an almost mischievous glint, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know who she found worthy or not.

“Tall, dark, and handsome on your five o’clock,” She said and turned back around to face him, “dirty blonde hair, sitting alone, wearing a black button up, and it sure does look like he could use some company.”

Hannah winked at him and handed him his beer.

“Go get him tiger.”

Castiel took the beer from her and looked towards where she’d pointed the man out. He was sitting in the far left corner in a booth, indeed by himself, and in probably the darkest part of the bar. Castiel couldn’t see his face clearly from where he was sitting, but from the way the small amount of light near him bounced off his cheeks, he could confirm Hannah’s affirmation.

The man was either extremely handsome, or was damn good at sitting in the right light.

Castiel hoped for the former.

Hannah, obviously just as impatient as Balthazar, shoved him off his stool and in the man’s direction. He shot her a desperate look and got a head shake in return.

She wasn’t going to let him lose this one.

With his heart pounding and his anxiety suddenly quelling up again, he weaved his way across the dance floor, melding through the throng of bodies, towards the man.

He was close enough to see the man more clearly now, and his pulse raced even harder when he was hit with just how stunning he was.

The sleeves on his button up were rolled down, but Castiel could see the muscle bulging underneath the dark fabric and admired how it stretched over broad shoulders. He hadn’t spotted Castiel yet, so his face was still mostly turned away, but Castiel knew he had a sharp jawline and plush lips. A half-choked noise escaped him as he watched those lips wrap around the beer bottle he was holding, and his grip tightened on the one in his own hand.

The man must have somehow heard him because his head snapped to where Castiel was standing. Verdantly green eyes stared at him in amazed wonder, and he was fairly sure that they were the most beautiful color he’d ever seen.

It was cliché, yes, but it was so very true.

“Green-eyes” inhaled deeply for a moment, closing his eyes as if he was savoring the scent of the air around them, before they were flying open in shock.

The beer bottle slipped through Castiel’s hand when the green gave way to silver, and he was bolting the opposite direction. The sound of the glass shattering was lost in the music, or maybe just in the roar in Castiel’s ears.

Panic welled up and spilled over inside him just as he was pushing through the door. He didn’t stop walking until he’d reached his truck and was safely inside, shoving the clothing he’d lost earlier to the side.

His heart pounded almost painfully in his chest and his breathing was near the point of hyperventilation. The world spun dangerously for a minute, the panic and alcohol not mixing well together, and, for a moment, he was sure he might vomit.

He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles whitening under the strain as he rode out the remnants of the panic attack.

After it subsided enough for him to safely drive, he turned the key in the ignition and gunned the engine, peeling out of the bar’s parking lot quickly.

Hannah and Balthazar would be worried as to why he just suddenly disappeared, but there was no way he was walking back in there.

Not when Mr. Amazing-Green-Eyes was a _vampire._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the chapter and want more? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

It was going to rain soon.

Dean Winchester, Vampiric Governor of the state of Rhode Island, could smell it in the air and feel it in his bones.

Soon, in a day or so, clouds would tumble over the horizon, just as they did millions of times before, and rain would fall in heavy sheets across the small town of Newport and beyond.

The storm was fairly sizable, big enough to carry wind and lightning along inside it.

Now, looking out across the jagged rocks and into the ocean, everything seemed calm. The waves lapped gently over each other and against the small cliff the house sat back from, and the slowly sinking sun blazed across the water, making the sky turn into a kaleidoscope of pinks, golds, and oranges.

In two days’ time, Dean was willing to bet, the setting beyond the mansion’s bay windows would be very different. The normally blue and cloudless sky would turn a dark and angry gray, the calm ocean with its gentle waves would roar and thrash about, furious with the storm above. Salt water would undoubtedly splash against the windows, only to be washed away by the torrents of falling rain.

He stepped away from the windows, turning his back on the setting sun, and made his way through the large house, toward his bedroom upstairs.

Dean loved and hated the Winchester estate.

He loved the sense of security the huge wrought iron gates gave him, loved how he shared it with his brother, and loved the memories that were painted into the walls.

Dean hated the loneliness that sometimes accompanied it, though.

When Sam traveled across the state or even across the country, which was quite often, to check over their territories and conduct business on his behalf, the house seemed so desolate.

It made him want to scream to the tops of the rafters.

If his father, John, hadn’t been so adamant about them keeping the estate in the family name, he would have sold it and moved a long time ago.

He wouldn’t disrespect his mother and father’s legacies by doing that though. Not when they’d fought so hard for the place, and not when they’d used it as a symbol of preservation even against insurmountable odds.

Dean desperately wanted to share the place with someone though, not just Sam.

His little brother, Sammy, wasn’t so little anymore, but he was still Dean’s responsibility. Due to complications during Mary’s pregnancy and Sam’s birth, the poor boy was born a stunted vamp.

Stunted vampires weren’t common, mostly because they didn’t fit into the rest of the Vampiric society and almost all were simply killed after birth, but John and Mary fought for their second son and kept him.

Truthfully, “stunts”, as their society normally called them, weren’t all that different from a regular vampire. Stunts fed slightly more, lost their sense of taste faster, and looked younger than the usual frozen age of twenty-eight, their appearance ranging from seventeen to twenty-five; but, they were equally as dangerous as a regular vamp.

Sam was fortunate enough to land on about twenty-four, letting him blend with other vamps a little easier, but his boyish looks were still noticeable.

Dean secretly found it hilarious really.

No one expected the 6’4”, energetic puppy that was his little brother to be a normally somber 700 year old vampire. Then again, they really didn’t expect him, the older brother, to have nearly 75 years on him, either.

Being so lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice he’d already made it to his bedroom until he found himself staring blankly at his dresser. On top of it, written on a sheet of yellow legal pad paper, was an address.

That damn sheet of paper had been haunting him all week.

The address was one of a new bar in town.

Ordinarily, Dean wouldn’t bother with bars since he kept a stock of blood in the fridge in the kitchen for both him and Sam; thus, eliminating the need to go out to feed, and making life ten times easier for his brother since he had to feed more.

Dean would admit it, he’d become somewhat of a homebody the last few decades, only leaving when it was absolutely necessary, but one day, about a month ago, something had urged him to leave the estate for a few hours.

The sun had made his skin itch, but he’d ignored it and gotten into his car, a 1967 Chevy Impala, and drove into town. It was a rare occasion that he rode with the windows down, but, for yet another unknown reason, he did.

There had been a light breeze that day, so when he’d gotten out across the street from the Newport garden district, he’d immediately caught a scent that would drive him crazy for weeks.

Amongst the florals of the garden was something unique and utterly divine. Under the tones of thimbleberry, honey-bells, and dew herbs, was a combination of smells that drew him closer and closer, intoxicating him.

The warmth of woodbine twined around the sharpness of red oak, all dipped in fresh summer rainwater surrounded Dean, making his knees go weak and his mouth water. Never in his 774 years had he smelled something so delicious.

He’d followed the scent until he stumbled upon the source, which happened to be a dark haired man in his late twenties, running his fingers reverently over the petals of a yellow buttercup.

Dean would later learn that the man with his back to him was named Castiel Novak. He would also learn over those next few weeks that he taught Theology at the local university and had a penchant for takeout.

He supposed the way he’d been watching from a distance might have been considered slightly on the stalker side, but he was fascinated with the man and his incredible scent.

Dean had debated quite a bit over whether or not to go to the bar tonight.  On one hand, he really should leave the man be and go about his own business, but on the other, more carnal hand, he wanted to meet Castiel, get to know him, and maybe even see if he tasted as delicious as he smelled.

Yeah, he was the captain of the biggest creep train on the planet right now.

Ultimately, as he crammed the page in his pocket, slid on his boots, and buttoned the sleeves down on his shirt, he decided he would go tonight and make it the last time he ever saw the man.

One last night of lustfully and, somewhat disturbingly, scenting him and he’d be gone from his life forever.

He checked his reflection in the mirror, tugging at the collar of his black dress shirt and making sure his arms were adequately covered. The tattoo that spiraled down the entire length of his arm wasn’t something he liked to show off very much.

Too many questions to deal with.

He trotted down the stairs and into the kitchen, nearly running into Sam in the process. His little brother yelped in surprise and held his right hand high over above him to avoid spilling his drink.

To the outsider Sam’s drink looked suspiciously like a Bloody Mary and, in a way, they weren’t wrong. The contents of his drink smelled like type O and hot sauce, one of Sam’s favorite combinations. It was one of the very few things he could still taste.

“Someone’s in a hurry.” Sam commented, tone surprised, and watched him as he searched for his keys. “Where are you headed to?”

Finding them and scooping them off the counter, he gave his brother an easy smile.

“Out. Why?”

Sam shook his head and took a sip of his drink, “It’s just highly unusual, man. You didn’t go out that often until very recently. It’s just a little weird is all.”

Dean threw his brother a shrug and another grin, “I guess I felt like _eating out_ tonight.”

With that, he turned and headed out the front door.

~~

Dean checked the address on the page one more time, making sure he had it correct. Confirming it, he cut off the Impala’s engine and sat back for a moment.

Baby’s seats were buttery soft and familiar under his fingers, helping him slide easily into a version of himself that would go mostly unnoticeable. Vampires his age and status gave off an aura of power that drew attention amongst his kind and sometimes humans as well, and that was definitely not what Dean needed tonight.

Sufficiently powered down, he got out of the Impala and locked it. He loped across the street and towards the entrance of the bar.

As soon as he opened the door he was hit with the unpleasant reminder of why he didn’t go to clubs and bars a lot. The smell of sweat and alcohol burned his nose and made him grit his teeth, and the sound of thirty plus heartbeats deafened him

Dean shook away the assault of smells and sounds, making his way to the darkest corner of the bar.

After he ordered a beer from the waitress in a too tight, white t-shirt, he began filtering through the throng of people, hoping to catch a whiff of the heady scent he’d been chasing for the past month. It took him several moments to dig past the stench of perspiration, the sourness of arousal and the sickly sweetness of maraschino cherries, to find the warmth he wanted so desperately.

Jesus, he was pathetic.

He caught it faintly through the crowd and held onto it the best he could as he lost it and caught it again, the vicious cycle repeating itself over and over.

As he sipped his beer, he concentrated harder on the scent, trying to dissect each element individually. The more he concentrated, the more distinctly he could remember it.

It was almost as if it was right there with him…

A strangled noise escaped someone behind him, alerting him of a sudden presence. His head whipped around to find a pair of ocean blue eyes staring at him, seemingly frozen in place.

Castiel was standing a few feet from him, his pulse singing in his veins and the bottle in his hand clutched tightly.

His scent fully hit Dean, along with the first up close visual he’d ever gotten of the handsome man. Sharp, high set cheekbones, intelligent blue eyes, and an astounding athletic stature made up this human before him, combined with the hedonistic perfume that always followed him.

Dean couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes and savoring the smell deeply. This time though, intertwined within the fresh and sweet sharpness, was something new, like a spice he couldn’t quite identify. Whatever it was caused arousal to swirl deliciously in the pit of his stomach.

He could almost identify it when the brunt of realization run him over like a train, causing his eyes to snap open and uncontrollably flash their bright silver.

Castiel smelled like a _mate._

Dean’s mate, his mate, was turning and running the opposite direction quicker than the glass of the bottle he’d been holding could even fully shatter.

Dean sat paralyzed and awestruck for a few minutes as mating hormones raged inside him. Every instinct screamed at him to go find the human, care for the human, turn and mate the human, but Dean simply couldn’t will his limbs to work together well enough to do so.

He watched as the two people Castiel had come with began to frantically search for him, the eyes of the female landing on his. She gave him a look of cold fury and turned her back on him.

At this point he had gained some function of his limbs and he rose from the booth, staggering for the door, the mating hormones making him feel drunk and wobbly.

He made it outside in time to hear a truck roar past the entrance and down the street, before stumbling across the street and fumbling to unlock the door. When he finally got the door open he all but fell inside, seeking clarity within the one place he could trust at the moment.

It could have taken minutes, it could have taken hours, but when his head was clear enough to focus on driving, he cranked the engine to life, focusing on the rumble of the engine.

He made a U-turn in the middle of the street, the wheels of the Impala protesting loudly, and headed towards the Theology professor’s apartment.

Dean made it to the place in record time, pulling in behind the same truck that had sped down the street earlier and cutting the engine again.

He ran through a hundred different ways to try to fix the situation and explain why he’d suddenly flashed what most humans perceived as a threat towards his new, unturned mate.

Dean didn’t have the chance to settle on one though, because something dangerous began to shift in the shadows in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> Tags:  
> graphic violence
> 
> ~K & J

Thank God the apartment had a simple layout that he could navigate without the lights being on, because he’d completely forgone the motion of turning them on when he went inside.

The moment Castiel barreled through the front door, slamming it shut behind him, he rushed for the bedroom, sliding the last few feet towards the nightstand on his knees.

He rifled through the drawer frantically, pushing the tattered books and the few other miscellaneous items out of the way. When his hand wrapped around what he was looking for, he sighed in relief.

Closing the drawer and slumping against the nightstand, he turned the silver knife over in his hand. It wasn’t incredibly special, just a standard six inch dagger with a tapered edge and leather wrapped handle.

He’d never had to use it before, but its presence, along with the one inside his briefcase, made him feel marginally safer.

Now with it clutched tightly to his chest, he breathed a little easier.

He was safe with his knife, tucked away in his locked apartme-.

His eyes flew open and panic seized him in its tight grip once again.

The door.

_He forgot to lock the door._

Scrambling to his feet, he dashed back through the apartment, nearly knocking over a lamp in his haste.

His heart dropped through the floor when he reached it, finding it open just enough to let the warm night air draft into the apartment.

With the knife gripped shakily in his hand, he slowly turned, fear washing over him.

He expected to be greeted by a tall, muscular frame with exquisitely green eyes, but the room was eerily empty. Inhaling deeply and steeling himself, he gradually made his way back towards the bedroom since the window in there was the lowest to the ground below.

Castiel was reaching for the light switch when the door slammed violently behind him, causing him to whirl, terrified, back towards it.

In front of it was a small woman, almost pixie-like in stature, with skin a milky white, brown hair cut short, and eyes sharp and assessing. A fleeting moment passed before he caught sight of the silver beginning to peek through her lashes.

He backed up quickly, stumbling and running into something tall and solid. Bouncing off best he could, he surveyed the man that he’d run into.

He was tall, much taller than Castiel, with dark skin and thick cords of muscle covering every inch of his body. He was an absolute _mammoth_ of a man.

Castiel’s heart thundered harder than ever in his chest, and sweat bead on his forehead.

It was silent for a few tense seconds before he was bolting forward, trying his best to escape.

Castiel didn’t get far.

Large hands grabbed his arms and slammed him backwards against the wall, and he lashed out in response, slicing at whatever extremity was closest. He caught a part of his assailant’s side, earning an angry roar and a dizzying punch to the face.

Blood pooled in his mouth and he could feel the knife being wrenched from his grip.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with sharp objects?” The woman asked him sweetly, the smile creeping over her face dangerously lecherous.

The mention of his mother made his pulse rocket even worse, whether from fear or anger, he didn’t know.

“Aw, don’t be scared little one. It’ll only hurt for a second.” The woman crooned at him.

Anger, it was definitely anger now.

In a moment of stupid bravery, he gathered the blood in his mouth and spit it forward.

It was a disgusting move, he knew that, but it seemed fit for the moment.

With a revolted look, she wiped the spatter off her cheek and fixed a furious silver glare on him.

She gripped his jaw tightly, and sneered at him, “I have orders to bring you back alive, but I think I just changed my mind.”

 

* * *

 

 

Dean crept up the steps to Castiel’s apartment quietly, his boots scuffing against the bricks, sticking to shadows as best he could. He was making one last check to make sure he had his dagger tucked away in his boot and his machete sheathed in the waistband of his jeans when he heard a loud crash come from the apartment.

The thought of potential danger for his mate had him moving swiftly up the last of the steps. The apartment’s door was open slightly and the lights were off, but he could hear the sounds of a struggle leaking through the cracked open door. Along with the sound was the smell of blood, human and vampire alike, permeating the air.

He toed the door open, eyes sweeping every corner of the apartment hastily. Before he moved deeper into the place, he plucked the dagger from his boot then headed straight for where the source of the struggle was happening.

Furniture was strewn everywhere and bits and pieces of what looked like a table were scattered across the floor. Inside the living room were three figures, two towering over the third.

He recognized all three.

The two vampires that had a hold of his mate were regular troublemakers in different areas of the state, attacking humans and killing them in plain sight of everyone in the area, pushing the risk of exposure even higher than normal. Marcus, a tall and dark skinned brute, growled low when he made his presence known, and Riley, the smaller woman behind Castiel, snarled right along with him.

Castiel was on his knees, bleeding from a cut on his cheek and laboring to breathe. His eyes rolled to the back of his head just as Dean entered the room, unconsciousness stealing him away from the horror show that was about to begin.

“Let him go.” His tone was cold and harsh, but it only made Riley chuckle.

“Fuck off, Ken doll. This one is ours.”

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head, unraveling the first tendrils of his power.

His eyes bled silver as he spoke, “No, kids. I’m afraid he’s not.

He dropped the last of the reserves he had on his power and let them lash out in the room.

The power of being the eldest in a long standing family, coupled with being a governor gave his aura a tangible aliveness that shook like thunder and crackled like lightning. The lights flickered on and off from the surge of electricity flowing from his veins.

“Kill him.” Riley spat, “I’ll leave you some for when you’re done.”

She sank her teeth into the crook of Castiel’s neck as Marcus rushed towards him with a roar. Dean stepped forward with him and ducked low, catching him in the middle, hauling him up and over, and slamming his weight down on the floor.

The walls and floor trembled from the impact, but he ignored it in favor of reaching for Riley and ripping her away from Castiel.

Castiel fell, limply, forward onto the floor, limbs sprawling out haphazardly.

Dean advanced quickly towards the unconscious man, needing to check on him, when two pairs of hands gripped each arm and hauled him backwards.

They tackled him into the wall, his back connecting with the hard surface painfully, and tried to pin him there, Riley sinking a hidden knife hilt deep into his side.

The motion caused him to drop his dagger, so he reached up, pushing past her death grip on his arm and slammed her head back hard enough to crack a hole in the wall.

With her momentarily stunned, he used it to his advantage and threw them both off and to the ground before reaching for the knife still buried in him.

Yanking it out, he stalked towards Riley and went in for a stab with the blade. He was expecting the deflection and used it against her again, tackling her and smashing her harshly against the floor, shoving the knife through her palm and deep into the floor.

She let out a scream, which he ignored, and tugged vainly against it.

Dean rolled across the floor, grabbing his dagger from where he dropped it and rolled again into a crouch, just in time to see Marcus charge towards him yet again.

He’d had enough of this guy.

With a motion quicker than what most human eyes could perceive, he slashed both of Marcus’s shins before sinking the dagger into his foot, much like he did to Riley’s hand, pinning the man in place.

In fluidity that most men his size didn’t have, he rose to his feet, unsheathed his machete and swung it powerfully.

The honed edge made easy work of completely beheading Marcus in one swift motion.

His head rolled across the floor as blood poured from the other half of his body, drenching everything in its path in the sticky red fluid, including himself.

He paid no mind, turning on his heel, intent on finishing Riley, only to see her seconds before she leaped through the window. Glass shattered and rained from it as she traveled through it and he could hear the heavy thud on the ground outside and the faint crack of a few bones.

Dean started to move after her when the first smell hit him full on.

He stopped mid stride and looked to where Cas was still lying unconscious. He’d missed it before, but he could definitely see it now.

Where he had ripped Riley away from him was torn open pretty horribly, leaving it to steadily leak blood. Thankfully, the bite was out of the way of his jugular, so he wasn’t bleeding out too fast.

The smell though… sharp and sweet, just like his scent.

It was making Dean very, very hungry.

He could feel his incisors lengthening at the incredible smell of fresh blood and he had to force himself to really think clearly.

He wanted so bad to pull the man up, bury his head in his neck, and drink like his life depended on it. He inched closer and closer still, hypnotized by the sight of the crimson liquid leaking onto the floor and staining the once pristine white of Castiel’s shirt.

A low whimper from Castiel was what snapped him out of it, mere inches from the man’s neck. He couldn’t, no, he _wouldn’t_ do that.

Shaking his head vigorously, he concentrated on what he _could_ do. Tearing off his shirt, he ripped one of the sleeves off and pressed it tightly against the seeping wound.

He couldn’t take Castiel to an emergency room, there were too many questions he couldn’t answer and he sure as hell wasn’t going to just dump him on the front step. The mere thought of leaving a bloody and broken version of this man out in front of the doors made him feel sick.

Dean ran through ten different options but to no avail.

He had only one choice left.

He had to take Castiel to the estate, _now._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who all was caught by surprise by the fight?  
> Like the chapter and want more? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

Clouds were starting to form on the edge of the horizon, playing hide and seek with the moon as it settled lower in the sky, indicating that dawn was not far from making its appearance, as Baby kicked up dust down the length of the highway.

There wasn’t a police officer in the state of Rhode Island that could have caught Dean Winchester in that Impala.

He mashed the button that controlled the estate gate and waited impatiently for it to creak open. Once it was open enough for Dean to get through without doing damage to the vehicle, he roared down the driveway, barely pausing to put it in park and turn it off.

With the care one would use with a newborn child, he pulled Castiel from the backseat and carried him inside the house.

Sam was emerging from the right alcove when he kicked the door shut behind him and began making his way for the staircase.

“Hey Dean, Charlie called and-”

His brother stopped short at the sweet scent of fresh human blood finally reaching him. Sam visibly tensed as silver bled through his normally hazel eyes, causing Dean to snarl possessively over the human in his arms.

Sam was quick to correct himself, throwing his hands up to plead innocence and shaking his head vigorously to clear his eyes again.

“Is that a… a human?” He asked bewildered.

Dean didn’t bother to answer and continued his trek up the stairs with Sam trailing after him.

“Dean, wait! Who is that?”

He continued to ignore his brother all the way down the corridor to his room before he growled out lowly, “It doesn’t matter. Strip the bed and help me.”

Sam scurried in front of him, ripping the blue bedding off of Dean’s mattress and helping him lay Castiel down gently. He removed the ruined fabric from the wound on Castiel’s neck and cursed when it continued to slowly leak.

He was reaching for the buttons on Castiel’s shirt when Sam pulled him away, demanding his immediate attention.

“ _Dean. Look at me.”_

He tore his eyes away from the bloodied human splayed out on his bed and focused on his brother.

“What happened?” Sam questioned him, using his tone of voice that conveyed to Dean that he would not be letting this go until he got an answer.

_Too bad._

“Sam. I will tell you what happened later, until then let go of me so I can help him before he dies.” He tried to pull away, but Sam had an iron grip on his arm, clearly intent on not letting go yet.

“No, Dean. I am not letting you go until you tell me why you and some stranger, _who is unconscious_ , came barreling in the house, covered in blood. Blood that, I might add, is not all his or yours. _Now, tell me what the hell is going on!”_ Sam commanded, voice growing louder with every word.

Dean shoved him off forcibly, watching as his brother staggered back, bouncing off the mirrored wall.

“He is the reason I’ve been going out more here lately, Sam! He was attacked tonight and I had nowhere else to go. It’s not like I could just leave him at an emergency room in this state, who knows if anyone would have found him in time! I can’t exactly walk in there with him either. Now, back off!”

“He’s a human, Dean!” Sam wailed, confusion pouring off him in thick waves. “What, do you like the way he tastes better or something? Humans die every day! Why is this one so different?”

“ _BECAUSE HE’S MY MATE, SAM. THAT’S WHY.”_ He thundered over his brother’s questioning, stalking towards his sibling and pinning him against the mirror wall. Having caught Sam off guard, he managed to close an arm over his neck and get close to his face.

“That. That is why this one is different.” He snarled, his eyes reflecting bright, angry silver off the mirror behind his brother. A muscle in Sam’s jaw ticked harshly but his brother nodded calmly, understanding washing away the fetid stench of his confusion.

“I’m going to let you go now, Sam.” Dean told him quietly. “Either you come and help me save him, or you get the hell out of here until I say otherwise. Understand?”

Sam nodded again, and he released him, striding over to where Castiel still lay still on the bed. Making quick work of the buttons on his soiled dress shirt, Dean exposed the man’s chest, wincing at the sight of the quickly forming black, blue, and purple bruises like ink splotches on parchment.

His brother joined him in probing around with careful, methodical fingers on the left side of Castiel’s ribcage while Dean worked through the right, counting the breaks quickly and efficiently.

“I got three broken and at least one fractured on this side.” Sam said softly before carefully pressing his head to Castiel’s chest. “I’m almost positive that lung is punctured as well.”

Dean sighed grimly and did the same, listening intently to the hollow, labored breaths. “This lung is fine, but there’s another three broken on this side and his arm is shattered to pieces.”

They quickly checked his legs, but found no issues, so he returned to the wound on Castiel’s neck, examining it more closely.

The blood flow had slowed nearly to a stop from the ragged tear in the man’s neck. Flesh, sinew, and tissue had been ripped violently from its rightful place, leaving a bloody hole in its wake. One look at Castiel’s face and a check of his thready heartbeat confirmed what Dean feared.

“Dean, I don’t think-” Sam started solemnly but stopped short when Dean held up a bloodied hand.

“I know, but I can’t lose him, Sam. Not when I just found him.”

He knew his voice sounded cracked and brittle like a windowpane in an ancient house.

He knew that this had to be a huge shock to his brother, to see Dean come in shirtless and bloodied, carrying a stranger and protective over the human like it was nothing, like he was one of their own.

To have him snap so easily at Sam… he never snapped at Sam like that, never raised his voice or had to use force against him.

He cast Sam the most sincere apologetic look he could, hoping, praying that his brother would understand.

“I have to, Sam. He won’t live through this and you know it.”

Sam stared at him, his expression a twisted and melded myriad of abject horror, pity, and desperation.

“Dean, you can’t, he isn’t conscious. Without his consent-”

“I know what will happen, Sam! I have no other choice, though. What else am I supposed to do?! Just let him be, hope that he wakes up before his lung fully collapses and shoves another rib into his other lung? Watch as he chokes on nothing but his own blood or bleeds out from the gash on his neck?” He questioned hysterically.

The smell of his own acrid fear began to burn his nostrils, overpowering the dewy, molded scent of Sam’s pity.

“Help me, please.” He pleaded.

A thousand thoughts and emotions played across the planes of Sam’s face before finally settling on one.

Determination. 

“I’ll do it.”

Gratitude spread through him like electrical currents and he nodded appreciatively to his brother.

“Does he at least have a name?”

He spared his brother one last glance before studying the human’s paling face.

“Castiel.”

~~

The first rays of dawn were peeking through the filmy curtains when Dean finally shooed Sam out. His bedroom was fully prepared

The dark formation of clouds was slowly moving across the sea, creeping towards the peninsula the mansion sat on, promising a more violent show than what the weather man could possibly predict.

Dean drew the curtains back, exposing the window more fully and letting what natural light they still had filter through the UV protected glass.

In the cold light of day Castiel looked even worse.

They’d cleaned him up best they could and reset the bones in his arm that weren’t dust, but even then, the poor man looked abysmal.

His skin was uncharacteristically pale, covered with a thin sheen of sweat. The bruises across his chest had worsened, spreading and blackening like a case of necrosis, and his breathing was still shallow and wheezy. The broken skin on his face swelled a bit, leaving his normally handsome face puffy and red.

Steeling himself, he eased his way on to the edge of his bed, lifting Castiel into a half sitting position and cradling his head, tilting it to expose the now clotted wound on his neck.

Time seemed to slow for a moment as the perfume of Castiel and his blood invaded Dean’s senses again. He could feel his incisors lengthening, priming to be used as the dangerous weapon they really were.

He sunk them in just below the marred flesh of Castiel’s neck, aiming carefully for the jugular vein. After breaking past the dry, insipid clots, he drank, savoring the exquisite flavor bursting across his palate. The hedonistic blend of sugary sweet woodbine, the sharp and spicy bite of red oak, all followed by the invigorating, cleansing taste of clear rainwater, made him dizzy and drunk all over again.

Soon he found himself drinking more deeply, the animal part of him tangling with arousal as he took pull after pull.

Castiel’s heart pumped harder, seeming to panic at the recognition of added blood loss, then slowed, beating lazily, until finally stuttering to a stop.

Dean managed to wrench himself away from his soon to be mate’s neck, taking in a deep lungful of air before tearing at the skin of his wrist with his stained teeth. Blood, his own and Castiel’s, drenched his face and chest. He pressed his bloodied wrist to Castiel’s mouth, shifting so he could tilt his neck again, leaving the blood to trickle down his throat.

After a few minutes Dean’s wound began to close before finally closing up completely. Satisfied that he’d given Castiel more than enough to turn him, he carefully lay him back down and eased off the bed again.

He paced over to the mirrored wall, taking in the reflected gory sight of his own body.

Blood coated his mouth, chin, and neck in thick, crimson rivulets and a smear of it graced itself high on his right cheekbone and temple. The dark lines of the tattoo covering his left arm and pec were also stained in a few places, becoming a more concentrated mass of color near his hands. Where he’d been stabbed earlier was fresh, unscathed pink skin, surrounded by dried and flaking red brown blood.

His jeans were completely ruined, the fluids having soaked and dried into them, making them stiff to the touch.

In the dimming daylight filtering through the window, he looked feral.

Like an animal that had just taken his revenge on those who’d captured him.

Dean hadn’t looked this horrifying in a very, very long time.

~~

Sam came and went, bringing a change of clothes and multiple damp terry cloth rags, which now sat at Dean’s feet, stained bright pink from the cleanup they’d done.

He told Sam to throw out the remains of his shirt and jeans, and now sat in the cushiony chair of his room in a simple t-shirt and fresh, weathered jeans. The more unassuming he looked the better off he’d be, or at least he hoped.

Dark grey clouds settled over the house now, and not too far off in the distance one could see the torrents of rain falling across the ocean, like a static haze over the skyline. Fleeting quips of lightning could be seen for a fraction of a second, followed by the low rumble of thunder as the cell advanced.

He flicked on the bedside lamp and checked Castiel over once more, inspecting his wounds in the soft yellow light. His bruises had faded to a brownish yellow at this point, the cut on his cheek having disappeared completely along with the swelling. A firm press to various areas of his arm confirmed that the bone had fully calcified and strengthened back to its proper state, as well.

Upon close examination, Dean could see the wound on Castiel’s neck repairing itself. The lines of tissue sewing themselves back together, muscle cords melding and becoming one again, ruptured and ripped veins sealing themselves back up again, and soft, tan skin multiplying to cover the mended flesh.

It was a slow process, almost to a molecular level, but if one watched long enough, or looked close enough like Dean could, they could see the progress being made.

Dean ran a hand through Castiel’s unruly hair and sighed.

He’d have a hell of a time explaining this one.

He settled back in his chair and watched the rain clouds continue their onslaught. The hours dragged on as the wound finally closed and for a moment, everything was still.

The first crackles of lightning, followed by a loud, boisterous thunder clap, touched down the moment a pair of azure blue eyes flew open on the Winchester Estate.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaack!  
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

He’s in the blackberry thickets again. Only, this time, he isn’t a child, there’s no lullaby to sing, no berries to pick… only eerie silence.

The sun is warm against his skin and the dirt is soft under his bare feet as he walks the worn footpath that he knows so well.  He pushes away the leathery vines and dry limbs in his way to the side, trudging further up the path.

Instinctively, he reaches down for the wildflowers, but they aren’t there either. In his hands are brown weeds, fragile and desiccated under his fingers, instead of the cheery and sweet smelling offerings that were once graced to him.

Bewildered, he lets the weeds fall from his grasp, absently watching them float and scatter towards the ground, and continues on.

The sun is getting warmer, nearing uncomfortable, when he emerges from the thicket.

The sight before him is no longer the same one from his dreams.

Barren, blackened, and charred fields are set out before him instead of the lush greens of corn or the golden-yellows of wheat. Trees lay across the dirt driveway to his childhood home, scattered like pick-up sticks thrown by a child.

Sharp rocks and burnt grass cut into the pads of his feet, leaving a bloody trail in his wake. Instead of the wine colored stickiness staining his skin, scarlet does. The color transfixes him for long moments before he begins moving again.

The sun begins to burn even hotter, causing his skin to redden and ache slightly as he nears closer to the house, and he can see the heat waves begin to rise off the ground.

The stairs creak loudly under his feet when he ascends them and the door is missing from its hinges. His mother’s beloved pictures are different, some of them are blank, while others are faceless, but none of them are the same as he remembered.

He meanders throughout the house, finding the rooms empty, until he reaches the kitchen.

His mother, father, and sister stand before him, eyes lifeless and skin sunken in, colorless, all except for the wounds on their necks.

“You did this to us, Castiel.”

His mother is who speaks, her voice as dead as the eyes in her skull.

_What?_

“You’re one of them now, a monster.” She steps closer, they all do, and he automatically steps away.

“No.”

His voice is distorted to his own ears, the syllables slurred and disjointed.

She takes another step forward and he takes another back.

Over and over until he’s backed up against the frame of the front door.

“No.” He repeats again.

She smiles and it’s a horrid, broken thing. Her teeth are black and some are missing from their rightful places.

“Yes, you did.”

His mother grasps his hands and forces him to look at them.

Blood is smeared from his fingertips to his elbows. It coats his shirt and pants, as well.

“No. No. _No!”_

He pushes her away and stumbles back out onto the porch. His pant leg catches on a nail, throwing off his center of gravity, causing him to fall.

He skids back out into the sunlight and it _burns_.

_Good God does it burn._

It feels like he’s on fire, his skin is too tight, and he can’t breathe. Flesh bubbles off his arms before his eyes, charring and bleeding profusely. There’s an animal inside his chest, roaring and clawing at his insides, seeking release from the bone cage that is his ribs.

_He just can’t breathe._

Soundless screams tear out of his throat and he feels like he might die.

The pain continues, and continues, and continues….

Then, it all stops.

There’s no pain, no sun, no family or house, no… anything. A black void surrounds him, blocking his senses from the hellish agony being inflicted upon him.

For long moments, there is nothing.

Just a laugh.

It’s a woman’s laugh, but twisted, wicked, and horrifying.

~~

There was an awful, day old, metallic taste in his mouth.

Electricity and canon fire are what fully woke him. It reverberated, then was followed by the sound of millions of bullets raining down from above him. The abrupt, near painful, explosion of sound alarmed him and his eyes flew open.

Suddenly, he could see _everything_.

A flash of light emanated from somewhere, illuminating the thousands of tiny dust particles floating above him for a fraction of a second. The ceiling, which was not his own, was high and painted a clean white. The light fixtures in the ceiling were turned off, but he could still see the slight film of dust coating them as well.

There was a set of hands on him and another cacophony of loud noises in the form of words. The hands were warm, too warm, calloused, and entirely unfamiliar. The words were vociferous and they hurt his ears.

He didn’t like any of them, at all.

Before he could even think the action through, he was on his feet, having torn himself away from the seeking hands. His open shirt fluttered around him and the fabric felt odd and confining against his skin.

Golden light flooded the room and blinded him, causing him to throw his hands up and over his face in an attempt to block it out, and he staggered backwards. He collided painfully with what felt like a cold wall and slid down it, clutching at his face still.

A smell permeated the air, it was heavy and foul and burned his nose, but he couldn’t escape it.

It surrounded him, consumed him, choked him, and he feared he might relive his dream again.

Everything was happening all at once and it was too much.

_Too much._

Too much sensation, too much noise, the lights were too bright, and there just wasn’t enough coherency for him to grasp and hold on to.

Hands were on him again, their grip firmer this time, but gentle. They pried his hands away from his face, exposing him to the light again, only more carefully this time. The voice was softer this time as well, almost… soothing.

The smell began to fade, being replaced by something much lighter and sweeter, he found it comforting for a moment.

He concentrated on trying to focus on the face in front of him, but could only catch a color.

Green.

It was such a pretty green as well, like verdant meadows or shining emeralds. A colored, tangible meld of greens, golds, browns, and subtle hints of grey-blue.

So warm, kind, and familiar…

The smell returned again, more pungent than ever as memories came flooding back to him and the world snapped back into focus, crystal clear and whole.

The bar, the handsome man in the corner, the attack… everything slammed into him with the force of a Mack truck and it stole his breath away.

He was scrambling for the other side of the room in an instant.

Handsome man from the bar was still crouched where he’d been sitting, expression exasperated for a few fleeting seconds. His expression softened as he stood though, morphing into a more soothing, placating mask.

He almost looked… harmless. His dark shirt and jeans were gone now, and he stood before him in a navy colored t-shirt and faded jeans. His left arm was covered in thick black lines of ink. He couldn’t quite make out what it depicted but he thought he could see a name there.

 _Winchester_. 

If Castiel didn’t know better, he would have thought the man was just a product of a very vivid dream, instead of the deadly creature he knew he was.

“What is happening?” Castiel’s own voice was rough and dry, unlike the slurred speech from his dream, for which he was grateful.

Handsome put his hands up in defense and spoke in low, soft tones, with a voice like honeyed whiskey, “Your senses are probably fightin’ to catch up with everything. Just keep calm so I can explain.”

“Explain what?” His voice trembled ever so slightly, and dread threatened to strangle him. He had a sinking feeling that something was very wrong and he desperately hoped he was incorrect with his assumptions.

_Please, no._

“You were attacked.”

Castiel found himself nodding.

He remembered that part, being thrown around like a ragdoll, the distinct crack of the bones in his chest and arm. Absently, he pressed a hand to the affected areas, only to find them fully repaired. The fact pushed him further into despair and he closed his eyes. He gathered the fabric of his shirt in his hand in an attempt to close it, still perplexed by the alien feeling against his fingertips.

“I… didn’t know what else to do, so I brought you here, and… fixed you.”

_Fixed you._

They rattled around in his brain for long moments, their meaning sinking into his brain and spreading like an infection, poisoning his thoughts and taking control of his emotions

Those two words caused his heart to drop and ignited fury in him.

Anger, red hot and fierce coursed through his veins, and the smell, his own fear he assumed, was overpowered by something piquant. He could feel his face flush bright with every passing second.

“What did you do to me?”

The words came out as a snarl, twisted and mangled, and the man visibly flinched at them. He, himself, was surprised by the vehement tone of his voice, but paid no mind to it. Lightning struck right outside the house, followed immediately by thunder loud enough to shake the walls.

His question was met with hesitant silence.

 _“What did you do!?”_ He was yelling then, striding towards the man and getting right in his face, seemingly forgetting that the thing in front of him is incredibly dangerous.

“I changed you.”

Silence, thick and viscous filled the air.

His emotions were not his own as Castiel’s blood boiled, and he contemplated how hard it be would to rip the man in front of him to shreds. _With his teeth_.

“You’re a… a vampire now.” He said the words almost apologetically. The room was quiet again except for the rain pounding full force on the roof, “I know that this has to be confusing and scary-”

“You know nothing.” He hissed, fixing the man with a look that could have set fire to the storm raging around them. “You think that because you came in and played the knight in shining armor that it’s going to make up for the fact that you’ve ruined my life?!”

Lightning and thunder crackled again, seemingly stronger than before.

Or maybe it was the roar in his ears again.

The man had the audacity to look taken aback by the words, but he ignored it and was bellowing again.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Any idea at all!?” Spittle flew as he screamed at the man, “You have turned me into the one thing that I despise more than anything on this godforsaken planet!”

Distantly, his mind registered that there was another person in the room, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. There was a subtle motion done by the one in front of him and the presence was gone.

“I did what I had to in order to save your life.” The words were mellifluous and timid, a stark contrast against the heated screaming that he had been emitting moments ago.

“I would have rather died.”

The man looked wounded by the statement.

 _Good_.

He turned on his heel and headed for the door, stopping short when a hand closed around his arm like a steel band.

“Let. Go. Of. Me.” He growled, trying vainly to rip his arm away. The door is a few feet from him and if he pulls just so-.

“I can’t do that, Castiel.” The mention of his name stopped him cold and the fight suddenly drained out of him.

He turned and faced the green-eyed monster that had his arm.

“How do you know my name?”

Green-eyes sighed and looked down, “I know a lot of things, but that’s for another time. Please, let me show you to your room.”

“I’m going home.”

Castiel could feel a ripple of irritation run through the man before he answered the statement, “No, you aren’t. Extreme fatigue will be settling in soon from the change and you can’t go outside yet.”

He reached past Castiel and opened the door, leading him out and into a large corridor, then turning left and pulling him towards the room next to his.

“I’m not staying here.”

Castiel received no answer, instead he was being guided through the door, and then gently pushed inside. He couldn’t even form another weak protest before the door was being shut in his face.

“We can argue about this tomorrow, Castiel. Please, rest for now.”

Instinctively, he knew he could just open the door and try again, but something held him back from doing so, like a careful hand resting on his shoulder, telling him no.

“I don’t even know your name.” He said it quietly, almost to himself, and was surprised when he received an answer.

“Dean. My name is Dean.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

The storm continued to rage on outside, pelting the roof and windows just as vigorously as before, and the lightning still streaked its way across the sky intermittently, chased by the deep rumbles of thunder.

Castiel paced along the length of the room, restless and not yet ‘fatigued’ as he was told he would be.

He stopped and surveyed the room once again, studying the details and trying to dissect something, anything, from the furnishings. As if they held secrets about his new _sire_.

The word made him twitch with anger, but there was no sense in getting riled up now.

It was a simple layout, nearly a mirror image to the one he’d been in before, with the room itself being in the shape of a somewhat long rectangle, the walls a light caramel.

It was easily bigger than most of his petite apartment, but Castiel could silently admit to himself that the space was stunning to say the least.

The bed, placed in the center of the right wall, sat on a sturdy off-white frame with a plush, coffee toned headboard, leaving the gorgeous mint colored bedding to bounce vibrantly off the rich brown.

On either side of the large bed were antique nightstands, painted the same off-white tone to match. Ornate lamps rested on each, and he had no doubt that if he were to turn one on, the beautiful, delicately detailed glass of the shades would throw off a myriad of colors as well as illuminated dragonflies.

A small composite wooden desk, stained a hue that reminded him of driftwood, and a cream colored chair had been placed under the large window straight ahead from the door. Dusty, well-loved books and an old alarm clock were scattered across the surface, making him wonder who had occupied this room before him.

Gold embellishments gleamed off of several surfaces, like the outside edge of the headboard and the chains hanging from the lamps, tying the room together nicely and giving it a sense of unity.

He found a spare black t-shirt in one of the drawers of the tall, solid dresser in the immediate right corner from the door, shrugging it on after having discarded his ruined dress shirt.

Castiel picked up the soiled garment and studied it for long moments. The once pristine white was now stained a dry red-brown, and the parts that had been saturated more thoroughly were nearly black with their burgundy discolorations.

Memories flitted before his eyes, sudden and unwelcome.

They had smiled at his fear, drank it in like rich wine, then spat it back in his face. Fate had turned the tables on him once again, first taking those dear to him, and then making him into the very monster that had slaughtered them.

Anger welled up inside him, causing him to twitch again.

Castiel paced another lap around the room, the gentle hand that told him to not argue with the man- Dean- having disappeared long ago.

He threw a glance towards the door, determination seeping into his skin.

Squaring his shoulders, he marched to it and wrenched it open. He peered out into the long curving corridor, scanning it for any dangers lurking in the shadows before creeping forward.

Said corridor was sparsely decorated with tall, lavish glass vases, filled with white orchids. He stepped closer to examine the pieces, admiring the elegance of the waist height vase, with its fluid and flowing shape and muted earth tones, but wrinkled his nose in distaste at the sight of the fake plastic of the orchids.

Upon hearing voices emanate from the room he’d been in earlier he continued creeping further down the hallway, stopping at the top of the stairs. Dizziness swept over him in a violent rush, leaving him disoriented for a few seconds before he shook it away vigorously and beginning his descent down the left side of the long, sweeping staircase leading into the foyer.

_This house is enormous._

He stumbled the last few steps, catching himself on the wrought iron railing before he could land face first into the glass table sitting in the middle of the opening of the house.

Castiel paused again, listening intently to make sure the voices still drifted down from the second story of the house. His vision blurred around the edges as the first wave of fatigue hit him full force. He swayed unsteadily, and nearly collapsed when his grip loosened minutely from the railing.

In the distance, he could see something bright, warm, and inviting. It was in the opposite direction of the door, but his muddled mind didn’t seem to mind, his escape plan temporarily forgotten. He ambled towards it shakily, nearly falling again when he missed the small step-down into the Great Room.

The large, open room with its warm color palette of burgundy’s and smoky grey’s invited him with open arms, especially the large hearth centered in the middle, safely and quietly crackling away inside its controlled confinements. There was a vast, charcoal shag rug placed in front of it that looked terribly comfortable and a suitable place to rest for a few moments.

Fatigue clouding his mind, he fell to his knees on top of the soft placement with a muted thud.

Soon, he found himself curling into a ball, fingers tangling into the silky threads of the rug, with his back to the fire, soaking up as much heat as he could.

Castiel was asleep faster than he’d ever been before, falling into a blessedly dreamless state within seconds of lying on the floor.

When he did, he succumbed to the deepest slumber possible, missing the pair of emerald green eyes watching him fondly, and somewhat exasperatedly, from the archway of the Great Room. He never stirred when a thick blanket, soaked in a scent that would soon become familiar, was settled over his chilly form.

Instead, he unconsciously burrowed deeper into it, letting the perfume of rich leather, fresh gunpowder, and lemongrass soothe him to sleep even further.

~~~

He expected nightmares to consume him once again, and was eternally grateful they didn’t. His sleep was merely filled with the wonderful aroma surrounding him. The rich, earthy tones coupled with the citrus made for an exquisite fragrance that he desperately wanted to bottle and keep for himself. Though, as of that moment, he still didn’t know where the smell was coming from.

Castiel absently rubbed his face against the soft surface he was laying on, taking a few seconds to revel in the scent some more before realizing what his original plan had been.

Out of that entire, poorly thought out plan, nowhere did it state that he should stop and nap on the rug.

Dean’s words from the previous night about extreme fatigue and not being able to go outside yet rattled around in his head, as if trying to warn him that it was a very bad idea to proceed any further with his escape. He resolutely ignored them and got to his feet, leaving the blanket in a heap on the floor.

Even with a scant amount still clinging to his skin, he instantly longed to be smothered in the smell again. Pushing the urge to bend and carry the blanket with him, he stepped around the enormous u-shaped burgundy couch and slipped out of the living room and across the marble foyer.

Unsure if anyone else was up with him, he made his escape as hasty and as silent as possible.

He winced at the sunlight streaming through the broken clouds and was immediately wary of the brightness bouncing off the wet pavement of the driveway, gleefully throwing pretty little rainbows in the puddles.

Castiel was still unsure of how much time he had before his captors caught him trying to sneak away, so, in a rare burst of courage, he stepped out into the full gaze of the sun.

Nothing happened.

It was astonishing, really. He’d expected pain or to be lit ablaze the second he stepped out, but other than the ever pleasant warmth of the sun, there was only a slight itch on his skin.

Relief flooded him as he silently closed the door and made his way down the step-down to the drive.

To his right was the most wonderful thing he’d seen in the past forty-eight hours.

A large beast of a car offered the perfect escape, gleaming from the fallen rain, and was surprisingly still unlocked.

In order to avoid being detected, he carefully opened the driver’s side door and released the parking brake. It took a bit of work but he managed to get the car rolling down the long paved pathway.

Sweat rolled down his back and soaked his shirt as he pressed on further, enjoying the slight shade that the tall sweet birch trees lining the drive offered. He could see two gigantic weeping willows standing proudly at the gate, offering a bit more solace with their long wispy strands. Castiel found their placement a little odd, but didn’t question it any further.

Soon enough he arrived at the iron gate at the mouth of the estate driveway and he climbed inside the car. There was a small remote laying thoughtlessly discarded on the passenger side of the bench seat and he found that it opened the gates blocking his way.

He prayed that he was a far enough distance away from the main house that the car being started would go unnoticed.

Steeling himself, he turned the key, wincing at the loud rumble when the engine turned over then began to steadily purr under him.

Putting it in drive, he eased out onto the stretch of highway and down the road a little further before finally speeding up, following the road signs that would lead him back home. He watched the road behind him vigilantly for nearly fifteen minutes then gradually relaxed.

He took the time to admire the stolen piece of machinery that was carrying him farther away from the dangerous place he’d been. It was all strong lines and pure masculinity, the midnight colored paint and chrome shining in the sun like a precious gem. It became obvious to him that this car had been well loved and thoroughly taken care of. A twinge of guilt shot through him for taking it but he justified it easily.

He’d just leave it at his apartment for them to find, no muss, no fuss.

Satisfied he had an apt solution, he settled back into the seat a little further and pressed the accelerator a little harder, enjoying the car’s responsive roar.

It was about another eighteen miles back to town and he was going to enjoy them.

* * *

 

Dean woke at about five-thirty, still groggy from the attack and having turned someone, but otherwise working at full capacity.

He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and sat up in his bed. Stretching and popping out all the various kinks in his shoulders and neck, he tossed the thick blue comforter off him and stood.

After covering his stubborn mate up earlier that morning, he had come back up and changed clothes again, trading jeans for flannel pajama pants, then redressed the bed before promptly passing out, only half under the blanket.

Idly scratching his stomach, he left his room, ignoring his no doubt ragged reflection on the mirrored wall. He made his way downstairs quietly, just in case Castiel was still asleep in the living room.

Sam and Dean had listened to the man mutter and curse to himself for the better part of an hour and half before Castiel decided to venture down to the landing below.

Unbeknownst to Castiel, though, Dean knew where he was going and why, and had watched him wrinkle his nose at the fake plants in the hallway.

Dean found it kind of adorable, actually.

He’d also watched as Castiel stumbled his way down the stairs, poised and ready to catch him should he completely fall, but still an undetectable distance away, while Sam retired to his own room.

When his mate turned for the Great Room instead of the front door, he hadn’t been one bit surprised. Fatigue always hit the freshly turned ones hard when they least expected it.

Another thing he found adorable was the way Castiel had seemingly snuggled into the plush rug without thought, rubbing his cheek on the downy threads and curling up like a cat in front of the fire.

It had been approximately twelve seconds after he laid down that the man was asleep, out like a light.

Dean smiled to himself as he turned for the kitchen, a fissure of pleasure running through him knowing that his mate had been soaked in his scent from the thick blanket he’d thrown over him.

He opened the fridge, grimacing at the lack of food there.

Castiel’s metabolism would still need a little time to adjust, so that meant he’d need human food for the first few weeks.

He’d send Sam on a grocery run later, with the specific instruction to get him more than rabbit food.

His mate was a full blooded male, not a damn rodent.

Pulling two bags of O negative out, he turned and grabbed two glasses out of the overhead cabinet. Before tearing the corners off the sterilized bags he threw them in the microwave, nuking them for a few seconds so they wouldn’t be ice cold.

Warm blood would probably be better to try to give Castiel anyway.

He ran through a myriad of ways to try to convince his mate that he needed to drink the crimson liquid that didn’t involve having to hold him down and force it down his throat.

Dean, unfortunately, wasn’t having much luck.

With two glasses of blood in his hands, he made his way back to the Great Room.

The glasses nearly slipped from his hands when he found it empty, the blanket from earlier crumpled in the floor.

Forcing himself to not panic, he set the glasses down on the stand beside the right end of the couch, and jogged back upstairs.

_Maybe he came back to his room for a little while._

He paused in front of the door and slowly opened it, slightly cautious.

Castiel could be asleep up here or waiting behind the door ready to smash his head in.

Dean honestly wouldn’t put the latter past him.

Full-fledged panic consumed him when he found the room vacant as well. His sudden flux of emotions must have alerted Sam because his brother was striding through the door within seconds.

The situation didn’t need explanation and his brother was turning on his heel just as quickly as he’d come in.

Distantly, through his panic, he heard his brother clomp hastily down the stairs, scouring the nine rooms below, meaning he was to search this floor for his missing mate.

There were a total of twelve rooms on the second floor of the mansion, including the library that spanned both the first and second, and Castiel Novak was in none of them.

“Dean!”

Sam’s shout from the landing below sent him barreling down the hallway, hope blooming in his chest.

Hopefully, Dean had just overreacted and his brother and mate would be waiting for him.

He skidded to a stop at the top of the stairs, the relief that had been bubbling in his chest instantly squashed as he spotted his brother, and only his brother, standing below shaking his head.

A brief flash of annoyance rippled through him before he was searching again.

“Dean, wait!” Sam shouted again as he tried to turn away.

“What Sam?” He barked, perturbed that his brother was hindering his search.

His brother visibly shrunk at his vehemence and tripped over the words, but Dean was fluent in flustered and slightly scared Sam apparently, because he could just make out the words his brother was saying.

“Castiel, um… he-he stole the Impala.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> (Pssst!! Be sure to check out our new cover here! - https://40.media.tumblr.com/79ec7bed9e22981d8ecff255da548f83/tumblr_nx9fh0q0KS1uatjiso1_540.jpg)
> 
> ~K & J

Castiel’s apartment was a complete disaster.

Pieces of furniture were strewn from one end to the other, wooden splinters sticking up from the worn carpet and shattered glass glittering like razor-sharp diamonds amongst the chaos.

He’s taken aback by the multitude of brown-black stains that are undoubtedly blood, splattered across the floor, walls, and, to his horror, the ceiling as well. Whatever happened where he was standing, the arterial spray had arched high enough to hit the roof above.

Castiel shuddered at the thought of what had to have happened here, because there was really only one thing that would make sense for such a display.

Decapitation. 

Thankfully, he was unable to locate a body inside the ruins of his beloved home.

The window on the far wall was smashed out completely, dried blood caked across the shards there as well.

He didn’t figure he’d have much time so he set about gathering what he could to take with him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t get very far.

There was a harsh pounding at his door that caught him off guard and had him nearly tripping over the end of the bed. He could smell the fear as it wormed its way through his veins, tangling itself around his airways and strangling him. His heart beat slightly faster and surprised him even further.

It was the first time he’d even noticed that it still worked.

He didn’t dwell on it though, because the pounding on his door sounded again, coupled with a voice that he was all too familiar with.

_“Cassie! Open this bloody door before I knock it down!”_

Balthazar’s voice was loud enough that he was sure the entire complex and then some heard him.

Castiel wasn’t sure if he was relieved to hear that voice or not.

If he was here that meant-

“Shut up, Balth. You and I both know that you couldn’t knock down a screen door. Try the handle, maybe he’s hiding in the back or something.”

There was a pause and a slight shuffle, the door handle jiggling, then another shuffle.

“What are you doing? No! Balthazar, I swear on all that’s holy, do not kick-!”

Hannah’s words had him scrambling for the door quicker than he could even think. He was wrenching the door open just as Balth was raising his leg in what looked to be an attempt to kick through, with Hannah in the process of hauling him away from it.

It was a comical sight for a few seconds, the two clutching each other in frightened surprise and both of their faces twisted into shock, but the amusement didn’t last long.

Hannah had him by the ear in mere moments, yanking him down to eye level with him. Her flowery scent surrounded him in seconds, causing something to stir in his stomach, like an animal waking from hibernation.

“It’s about damn time! We’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night, do you know how many times we called?” She scolded him like a worried mother until she caught sight of their surroundings.

Castiel hadn’t had the chance to clean up anything yet.

“What happened?” Balthazar’s voice was low, darker than he’d ever heard it before, taking him completely by surprise. His friend was normally all smiles and drunken optimism, but this was a different side that he’d never seen before. It was almost… protective.

The smell of his anger hit Castiel harder than he’d anticipated and he could feel the animal wake a bit more, growling lowly at the scent.

“Are you hurt?” Hannah had let go of his ear by now, her eyes and voice interminably softer, sweet smelling breath ghosting over his face.

Suddenly, he was so very, very _hungry_.

_Oh no._

He backed away from Hannah, maybe not as slowly as he should have, but he couldn’t risk it.

The disturbingly enticing image of sinking his teeth into her throat and drinking the life from her in deep pulls, marveling in the bright crimson drops that would trail down his chin, possibly spilling down his neck and even his hands, made his stomach both turn violently and clench deliciously.

It was _Hannah_.

He couldn’t do that to her.

Vaguely, he was aware that they are both staring at him, concern etched across their faces and he knew he must have looked ashen and frightened.

Mentally, he shook himself, the voice in his head screaming at him to get it together.

He avoided her question entirely.

“Someone broke in last night.” The words were a deadweight in his mouth, the syllables tinged with the bitterness of a half-lie, but they came easily.

They amp up Balthazar’s anger and Castiel could practically hear the blood singing in his veins, calling for him, seducing him with their melodic beats.

“I’m okay, just real shaken up.” The lie rolled off his tongue as lucidly as the first. He tried for autopilot mode, breathing through his mouth instead of his nose and shutting off his thought process, but it made it infinitely worse. He could taste the slight sweat clinging from their skin in the air, the sweet fruitiness of Hannah’s shampoo, and the dry muskiness from Balth’s cologne.

“We tried to call after you took off, but you never picked up. Jesus, Castiel, if we had known…”

_You would have been killed._

The voice inside his head that threw out the thought was not his own; instead, it was Dean’s.

Dean- the man behind all of the disaster.

Something prompted him to keep lying, letting each of the soured sentences flow from him as simply as the truth would have. He cleared his throat and began speaking again, his voice becoming a little more strained with every passing word

“I’m going back to Pontiac for a while. I… I think it’s time I go see how bad the house has been treated over the years, settle a few things, and maybe try to find peace.”

Balthazar gaped at him, “You’re just going to ignore the fact that someone broke into your apartment and just leave?! Look at what they did to the place, Castiel! They could have hurt you or worse!”

He didn’t even register that Balth called him by his full name.

_Or worse._

The world fuzzed around the edges as the thought settled into his brain. It echoed and resounded through the caverns of his head, rattling his brain violently.

Worse had already happened.

“All the more reason to go.”

Hannah stepped closer to him minutely and the animal snarled at her with gruesome teeth bared. He responded to the step, backing up against the counter and gripping it with both hands tightly. It was all in a vain effort to keep himself from reaching out and winding fingers through Hannah’s dark hair tightly and baring her neck to him.

“Castiel, what about your job? Finals are in a week and a half, you can’t just take off before then.” She saw through his lie and was pleading with him to stay.

The realization felt like a kick in the gut.

They were scared for him. One look at both of their faces, Hannah’s soft and drawn in and Balthazar’s hardened but with pleading eyes, confirmed the suspicion.

He had to go before he hurt them.

“There is a hard drive in the third drawer of my desk, it’s probably buried under some papers, but it’s there. It contains the finals test and answer key, all that has to be done is having it printed, copied, and distributed. My students know what they need to study for. There’s no reason the university won’t allow it.”

Hannah looked like she desperately wanted to argue but there wasn’t any point to it.

Castiel was right and he knew he was.

By some act of a higher power, it seemed to finally get through to Balthazar that he was leaving, like it or not, and it pushed his friend to gently take Hannah’s elbow and tug her in the direction of the door.

The undercurrent of suspicion still lied within both of them, but Hannah seemed to deflate at Balth’s touch and offered him a small smile.

They both hesitated at the entrance of his apartment.

“Goodbye, Castiel.” Hannah murmured and he felt the first stabs of guilt and longing hit him square in the chest.

“Do call Cassie, if you run into any trouble… or just want to… chat.” Balthazar told him with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His endearment and slight pause drove the spikes even closer to his heart and he found himself nodding succinctly.

He offered them both a half wave and a watery smile as they departed.

It was quiet for a few moments as he listened to his friends, his only friends, exit.

The breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding whooshed out of his lungs, burning slightly from the lack of oxygen flowing through them. He took in long, shuddering pulls of air trying to rid his nostrils of his tempting smelling friends.

About midway through the fourth pull, he was blindsided by leather, gunpowder, and citrus, and whirled to find the source sitting in the only kitchenette chair he had left, twirling a piece of splintered wood between his long fingers.

Fear rocketed through him again, but kept him frozen, stock-still, in place as green eyes blinked at him slowly, almost catlike. There was no anger in them, no indication that he was in any danger at all, to be honest, they were almost completely blank. All except for the tiny glimmer of pride sparkling deep in their jade depths.

Dean studied him silently for long moments, before crossing his arms and offering him a rueful grin.

“Hungry yet, Cas?”

* * *

 

When the news of the Impala’s theft had finally stopped causing him to go into an overload of panic, he and Sam loaded up into Sam’s Dodge Charger and headed for Newport.

If Dean knew anything about humans it was that they were incredibly habitual, predictable, and easy to track. Granted, Castiel was not human anymore, but he still had a thought process of one.

Humans always retraced their steps, went back to the scene of a crime, or fell into routines so easily. It made them feel safe, secure, and stable; but, it also made them vulnerable.

Dean knew exactly where Castiel would go, but not that his friends would drop by. He’d been paying more attention to his mate and the relief that he had found him again more than the possibility that the companions from the other night might make an appearance.

That was a mistake on his part.

He’d been poised in the shadows of Castiel’s apartment, completely undetected by all three of them, ready to stop his mate from doing something irrevocably stupid.

Castiel had genuinely shocked him, though.

The man had backed away, perhaps a little too quickly, and reigned himself in, kept his cool, and lied through his teeth like a pro to keep his friends safe.

They would still have their suspicions, but Dean wasn’t concerned.

He was proud of his mate.

He was also still extremely pissed, not that he would show that now, that Castiel had done the disappearing act with his car, but proud.

Now, with the man in question staring at him a few feet away, at war with himself, he relaxed a minuscule bit.

Castiel, beautiful, stunning, complex Castiel, with his delicious perfume tainted with the obvious pains of hunger, stood staring at him like a deer caught in the headlights of a speeding vehicle, paused mid-step, terror painted across the planes of his face.

If this astounding man had been completely his at the time, he would have undoubtedly taken him across his knee and spanked him until his ass was red and raw for such brash, thoughtlessness. Dean was actually surprised by the train of thought, and the image of a mess of writhing, tan and cherry red skin flitted in his mind’s eye.

He held back though, putting this new want aside to be analyzed later. He truly didn’t want to frighten the poor man any more than he already had.

No, it’d have to wait.

Maybe a few weeks.

Maybe forever.

Now, though, it was time for professionalism.

And a talk.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!  
> Our new cover is here! - https://40.media.tumblr.com/79ec7bed9e22981d8ecff255da548f83/tumblr_nx9fh0q0KS1uatjiso1_540.jpg)
> 
> ~K & J


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

Silence hung heavily between the two of them, setting Castiel on edge even more than he’d already been.

He still hadn’t answered Dean’s question, but it didn’t seem to be bothering the man. Instead, he just sat there, patiently waiting for him to get his wits about him again.

That task was proving to be incredibly difficult.

The pain from being so hungry was unlike that of a human’s. For a human, it was a mild sensation, a tingling or twinge that wouldn’t be satisfied until given sustenance. A human’s stomach sighed with the need before their mouths could form words to express it.

This was far from mild.

The animal didn’t sigh, _it roared._

After being so close to the life force it so desperately craved it was furious with him. His body was in physical agony.

Castiel’s jaw ached from clenching it so tightly, his stomach seized and cramped, and his every instinct screamed at him to run and find nourishment.

Dean’s simple question of hunger was a vast understatement.

_“I’m starving.”_

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, even less so let the words form into a snarl.

His sire didn’t seem to mind, though.

Dean just merely nodded and sighed before leveling Castiel with a serious look. A muscle in his jaw ticked with a flash of irritation, but that was the only emotion that emanated from the man.

“It’s only going to get worse from here. The… pain and hunger you’re feeling right now is going to get worse, times about a hundred.”

Castiel shook his head, it couldn’t get any worse than this, that couldn’t be possible.

“I would never hurt anyone, never. I didn’t hurt Hannah or Balthazar, so I won’t hurt some random passerby.”

Dean scoffed, “The way you handled yourself when your friends were here was pure luck. Luck that will get harder and harder to keep up until you end up putting every human you come into contact with in serious danger.”

Castiel just stared at him, the disbelief in him beginning to wear thin.

“I know you could smell them both. It was so tempting, wasn’t it? To just give in and let the animal take over? That urge to feed just from the mere smell is going to become stronger. Soon, it will get to the point where you can taste it in the air, miles away from the nearest human.” Dean’s voice rose slightly with every words, hardening to prove his point.

“Before you know it, you’ll be feral. You will have killed someone, someone you love, without even realizing it.”

 “Once you give into something like that…” There was a pause as Dean shifted in his seat, “There is no going back from that. You will become so desperate for the taste that you will do anything, kill anyone, for it.”

Castiel’s stomach clenched and rolled at the thought. His mind flitted back to the image from earlier of Hannah. He blanched at just how easy it would have been to reach out and take what he craved.

If what Dean said was true, that would happen every time he was in the vicinity of a beating heart and sound mind.

He swallowed hard and straightened his spine.

“What do you want from me?” The words weren’t violent sounding this time, more timid and scared than anything.

“To protect you, give you a stable place to live, a place where there will always be food so you don’t have to go out and hurt someone you love. If you would have stayed at the house, I would have told you that, Cas.” There was something hidden within those words, a deeper motivation, under their soft guise but Castiel couldn’t quite identify it.

 

His mind whirled around the shortened version of his name, though.

The last person to call him Cas was… Gabriel.

It occurred to him that this was the second time Dean had called him that, and he was 110% positive he didn’t like it

“First of all, my name is _Castiel_.” He spat, purposely putting venom behind the words.

Gabriel, and only Gabriel, ever got the right to call him that, not some monster that had fucked his life over.

“Second, I’m just supposed to leave my life behind to go live with a man that I don’t even know?” He asked incredulously.

The whole ordeal sounded insane to him. He couldn’t possibly be suggesting-

Castiel couldn’t even finish the thought before Dean was on his feet, hand extended and an easy smile on his face. He could tell that this facade was well practiced.

He looked at the outstretched hand with skeptical, wide eyes for long moments before hesitantly taking it.

Dean’s grip was firm and warm in his own clammy and weaker one.

“Dean Winchester, Vampiric Governor of territories 13 and 34, otherwise known as Rhode Island and Kansas, at your service.”

_Was that supposed to make him feel better?_

“Castiel James Novak, Theology professor of the local university. Did you say _Governor_?”

Annoyance flitted across Dean’s face at the mention of his title.

“It’s a long story. Look, here’s the deal: You can either come back with me and I can protect you, feed you, and give you a safe place to live or you can try to survive on your own. Either way, I have to be going soon.”

Castiel just stared at him.

This man, if one could call him that, an almost complete stranger, was asking him to come live with him.

“I know what I’m asking is probably insane sounding but it’s the only offer I have.”

“ _Probably_? How do I even know if I can trust you?”

Another loaded silence settled between them, and Castiel was sure that Dean wasn’t looking really looking at him, more of through him.

“You don’t.” The solemn tone of his words paired with the weight of Dean’s hand suddenly appearing on his shoulder threw him off even more. Castiel wanted to both shrug off and lean into the touch.

“I’m going to go wait in the car. I’ll give you ten minutes to mull it over and decide.”

He squeezed Castiel’s shoulder gently and gave him a small smile before turning and leaving the apartment, long bowed legs carrying him with an easy stride.

Castiel didn’t really have to think about it long, he’d already been nearly convinced, his stomach seizing up again just helped him make the decision final.

_“Fuck.”_

~~~

It took him seven minutes to leave his quaint apartment behind.

Five to convince himself to go even though the idea was the best option he’d probably ever have.

Two to pack a few sets of clothes.

There was a hole in his chest, throbbing along in time with his heart and ever growing hunger pains. If he had more time, there was so much more he’d take with him.

Something told him that Dean would leave him behind if he wasn’t out before the allotted ten minutes was up, though.

Dean was standing by the end of the car, running a hand over the glossy paint when he finally came down. The afternoon sun played across his features beautifully, the light catching in his hair and making it look like spun gold.

He said nothing about Castiel’s shakiness or the grey duffel bag he was carrying, just rounded the front of the car and opened the passenger door, gesturing for him to climb inside.

The drive back to the mansion was quick since Dean blatantly disregarded every speed limit in the 22 miles it took to get back. Classic rock poured through the stereo speakers the whole way with Dean absently humming or tapping along with the tune.

It wasn’t until they pull into the drive, past the large gates with the engraved W’s and were under the haphazardly thrown shadows from the sweet birch trees lining it, that Castiel fully noticed how gorgeous the house was. He had been in such a hurry earlier, trying to put as much distance between himself and the man sitting beside him, that he had completely ignored it.

Castiel was a bit amazed that he’d completely missed all of this to begin with.

The circled end of the drive boasted a large ivory colored fountain completed by two granite prowling lion fountainheads, led up to the house.

It was massive, crescent-curved structure, complementing the peninsula that it sat back on, built up with earth and sandstone shade rubble-stone, limestone quoins, and topped with a slate roof. The terraced front steps matched with their sandy tone and held two barren, rustic-granite flower boxes. Windows lined the home on both levels, exposing the inside to sunlight at nearly every time of the day, and were framed by more of the quoins.

Dean dropped him off at the front and disappeared into the large garage off to the left with the car, leaving him to wander hesitantly back inside the house. He found himself inside the massive open foyer once again but he wasn’t alone.

There was a man dressed in a cream colored long-sleeved shirt and jeans leaning against the right wall with his bare ankles crossed, talking animatedly on the phone. His shaggy brown hair fell waywardly in his eyes, only to be brushed back when he scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. He didn’t look to be any older than twenty-five with his boyish features, accented by rounded cheeks and soft hazel eyes.

Upon his entrance, he glanced over and held up a long finger, signaling for Castiel to give him a moment to finish his conversation.

“Yeah, that is very odd. I’ll let him know. Thanks Garth, stay safe.” He ended the call and straightened from the wall to his full height, shocking Castiel with his towering presence.

“Hi.” He greeted him warmly with an easy smile.

Despite his height being slightly intimidating, he radiated a calmness that soaked into Castiel’s skin, putting him at ease. His scent was neutral and palliative, a combination of woody cedar, fragrant basil, and familiar dusty books, a strong contrast compared to his earlier companion’s bold one.

“Hello.”

The man approached him with a sort of cautiousness that one might use around a frightened animal and extended a hand towards him, much like Dean had done earlier.

It occurred to him that a frightened animal was nearly the exact equivalent of what Castiel had become.

He took the man’s hand with less hesitance than what he had with Dean, his returning grip firmer than earlier. Like Dean’s the grip was warm but also almost… reassuring.

“Sam Winchester, it’s a pleasure to meet you now that you’re conscious Castiel.”

_The Winchester Brothers. As if one wasn’t enough._

The question of how Sam knew his name and what he meant by now that he was conscious died on his tongue as a fresh wave of pain hit him. He winced and dropped his new acquaintance’s hand, clutching at his stomach feebly.

“Yeah, that one looked like it hurt. Come on, let’s fix you up, huh?”

He nodded weakly and followed Sam through one of the doors along the right wall and into a large kitchen. The kitchen was shaped unlike anything he’d ever seen. Instead of a standard rectangular shaped area, it was a more fluid, loose circle curving with the structure of the house. Every aspect of it was black granite and shiny stainless steel giving it a sharp, clean look.

Sam gestured for him to sit on one of the barstools on the left end of the curve, while he scurried about the kitchen. He rooted around in the fridge for a few seconds before emerging with three hospital grade sterile bags, all filled with what was undoubtedly blood, and a bottle of hot sauce.

He tossed all three in the microwave and started it, then retrieved three tall glasses from the cupboard above him.

With practiced ease, he opened each and emptied them into the glasses, not letting a drop spill or be wasted.

He threw away the plastic remnants, set a glass in front of Castiel, and then upended the bottle of hot sauce over one of the remaining glasses, shaking it vigorously.

Castiel eyed the crimson liquid with trepidation, suddenly feeling a little sick to his stomach at the thought of just casually drinking a human’s life force. Granted, this was a long shot better than ripping some innocent’s throat out, but it still wasn’t appealing.

Sam stopped shaking the bottle and gave him a look of understanding.

“I know it’s scary, but trust me, you will feel so much better after you drink it.”

He nodded but didn’t make another move towards the glass, just remained staring at it. His body screamed for it and, to his horror, he could feel his mouth begin to water.

This was it.

The last shred of what had once made him human sat in front of him, innocent and terrifying all at once.

Castiel drew in a deep breath and steeled himself.

With a shaky hand he picked up the glass and took a sip.

Energy and relief surged through his veins and the sip turned into a long guzzle. To his relief, it didn’t have much taste to it, only a coppery lingering aftertaste. Before he knew it, the glass was empty, only a few scarce traces remained in the bottom and on the sides.

He was no longer in agony, just slightly achy, like he’d just recovered from a long bout of the flu, and he wasn’t as weary as before either.

Sam traded his empty glass with the remaining full once and patted him on the shoulder.

“See, it just looks scary.”

He nodded and grasped the second glass.

Silently, he made a toast to himself.

_Goodbye, to my remaining humanity._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

Castiel adjusted to life on the Winchester’s estate gradually over the passing days. The routine he conformed to was a shaky one, being about as stable as a newborn fawn trying to stand on its own.

He avoided as much interaction with the Winchester brothers as he could, especially Dean.

Sam was tolerable for a complete stranger, always setting out a glass of blood for Castiel when he made himself one, but he respectively gave him space. He didn’t feel threatened by the tall man, he just didn’t know how to strike up a conversation with him.

Dean… he was still apprehensive about. There was something about the green eyed beauty that stuck out to Castiel, niggling at him every time they passed in the hallway. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he wasn’t brave enough to stop and have a chat with him unless he absolutely had to.

It was cowardly, yes, but he told himself that he really didn’t want to be around Dean much, even though it was only half true. As apprehensive as he was about Dean, he was still ultimately curious about him.

He wanted to know everything about him.

How old was he?

How did he become the vampire governor of both Rhode Island and Kansas?

What did the tattoo on his arm look like and mean?

_Why did he choose to save Castiel?_

Castiel didn’t dare ask, even though, deep down, he was sure Dean would probably tell him anyway.

The thought of actually trying made him nervous.

So, he put his questions and curiosity aside and analyzed the finer details of his life now.

To his surprise, his heart still beat like a human’s, but very, very slowly.

It made sense, he supposed, that his organs could still function normally.

In all honesty, being a vampire wasn’t terribly different from being a human in some instances. He still breathed, his heart still beat, he slept, and his body still demanded food, human food, at the appropriate times.

Demanded might not have been the right word for it, though. It was more of a subtle want, a gentle craving for something substantial.

It was almost relieving to be hungry for something other than blood.

So far, he hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask either of the brothers for any real food. Instead, he settled for stale crackers and water, but it was enough to soothe his stomach.

He slept more than anything.

Blessedly, it was mostly dreamless bouts of exhaustion from his body trying to get accustomed to its new state.

Sam had told him that vampires could conform to a human’s normal sleep schedule if they wanted, but being a night owl was normally preferred. So, while he slept almost all hours of the day, he was more awake during the night hours, rising an hour or two before sunset and slipping into bed and immediate unconsciousness right at dawn.

He missed waking with the sun, but it was one of the many things he would have to adjust to.

Sitting in the still quietness of the room that he assumed was now his, picking at loose threads on the green bed-spread, he could still take note of all of his senses, keeping him calm in the midst of a strange and new setting.

Things were heightened now, more so than when he’d been human, but it wasn’t overbearing like it had been when he’d first woken up.

He could read text from across the room; whereas, if he’d been human, he would have had to squint or move closer to try and make out the letters.

When he breathed through his mouth he could taste the light film of dust in the air and the distant aftertaste from his earlier liquid meal.

A small sniff gave him a faint hint of the brothers’ scents twined together from below. Dean’s intense and lively aroma toned down by Sam’s more muted and calming one.

Muffled ends of sentences floated up to his ears, nearly drowned out by the crashing waves outside. Birds sang and chirped merrily to one another, nested in the numerous branches of the sweet birches outside.

His heart thudded slowly but steadily, the blanket was soft and worn under him, fraying on some of the intricate designs, and his clothes, grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, hung loosely off of his frame.

Castiel closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, rolling his neck from side to side and relishing in the cracks that came from the stiff joint.

He needed to get up and move for a little while.

A glance at the alarm clock on his desk told him that he’d been sitting there, staring off into space, for a little over an hour now.

He unfolded himself and stood from the bed, stretching and listening to the round of cracks, snicks, and pops from the rest of his body before padding idly towards the door.

If he was going to live here now he might as well explore a bit and gather his bearings.

From the sound of it, the brothers were somewhere downstairs, so he took his time on the second for a little while, avoiding them as he so often did.

Castiel started left of his room, crossing diagonally to the first door there.

Besides his own and Dean’s, it was the only other bedroom that seemed to have someone inhabiting it. He assumed it was Sam’s, but didn’t linger long, only giving the burnt sienna walls and dark red furniture a quick once over before moving on.

Most of the rooms upstairs were bedrooms with adjoining bathrooms, all well-kept but with a charming layer of dust indicating they hadn’t been used in quite some time. They were all coordinated in various muted tones and impersonal, save the few scuff marks on the floor where furniture had obviously been moved, giving them an inkling of character.

There was an open archway a little ways down from his bedroom that he saved for last.

Castiel stood in awe at the doorway, slack jawed.

He found himself standing on the second landing of the massive library that was nestled inside the Winchester’s mansion.

Books, hundreds of them, lined the walls, taking up every available space on the shelves and tables. Brown and burgundy couches and cushioned chairs were scattered across the expanse accompanied by tall silver lamps with tan colored shades.

Directly across from the door way, past the wooden railing of the top landing, was a huge three paneled, floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the back edge of the property and out into the endless scape of ocean. He spotted the steps of the spiral staircase over to his left and eagerly descended them, marveling at the sheer massiveness of the hidden gem he’d found.

The first floor was similar to the second with books adorning every available surface. Multiple couches, chairs, and lamps were placed throughout as well. A thick cushioned window seat the size of a bed held even more books underneath it.

Under the light of the giant window sat a dark mahogany desk and chair set with books strewn across it, all opened to different pages.

A stone fireplace lay unkindled on the right wall with a very large and weathered looking map of the planet hung above it. Upon closer inspection he could see multiple water stains and frayed edges, confirming its authenticity.

There was also a door to his right hidden amongst the shelves, but he could hear the brothers’ voices emanating from inside, so he elected to stay quiet and away from it.

Towards the archway leading out of the library was a tall wooden and glass display case with brass knobs on the doors.

Different items littered the shelves inside.

An old rifle and a few boxes of bullets sat on the uppermost surface. The middle held an engraved cherry wood box and a handful of glass figurines, and the bottom held three large albums with burlap covers. The covers of each were adorned with beautiful cursive black W’s in what looked to be charcoal.

Castiel resisted opening the case and considered finding a good book and curling up on one of the couches.

His newfound hunger said otherwise, though.

He gave the library one final longing glance, vowing to return, and set off for the kitchen.

A tendril of dread unfurled itself when he set foot in the immaculate kitchen as a thought occurred to him.

Castiel had no idea what he was doing trying to _feed_ himself.

Sure, he’d watched Sam do it a few times but it didn’t really change the fact that he himself hadn’t tried to do it yet.

He swallowed hard and shook himself.

_Get it together._

It took him a few minutes to find one of the tall glasses that he’d seen Sam use. He was sure that he ended up with one that was meant for expensive craft beers, if the label emblazoned on the outside was anything to go by.

A, B, AB, and O, positive and negative, were all stacked neatly and almost innocently on top of each other inside the fridge, causing him to stare blankly at them for several moments.

Was there a taste difference?

Was one better for him than the other?

_Why does this have to be so damn complicated?_

Deciding he should stick with the universal donor, he grabbed a bag of O negative and Sam’s bottle of hot sauce.

He set the hot sauce beside his glass and put the blood bag in the microwave, then proceeded to stare at the timer.

Shit.

Taking a wild guess, he punched in 45 seconds and prayed that it didn’t explode.

He reached for the hot sauce and unscrewed the cap, shaking a droplet onto his fingertip for a taste. He sniffed it beforehand and could detect the blend of spices inside the red drop, then licked it off the tip of his finger.

Castiel immediately regretted the decision to try it.

Hellfire scorched his tongue from the single drop, causing his eyes to water and his face to flush wildly. He knew that drinking water would just make it worse, so he scrambled to read the label on the bottle, looking for the ingredients and comically fanning his tongue in an attempt to control the inferno resting in his mouth.

_An intense blend of Ghost Peppers, Red Savina Habaneros, and Trinidad Scorpion Chilies is sure to turn up the heat on any dish or drink! (Please use sparingly and responsibly.)_

He outright groaned at his own ignorance.

Castiel would definitely read the label next time.

Setting the bottle aside and trying to ignore the fire still in his mouth, he reached for the blood bag in the microwave. It hadn’t exploded and the plastic was only warm to the touch, so he assumed it was safe to take out.

Wrong.

Unbeknownst to him, the bottom edge of the plastic was thinner than the rest of the bag and had subsequently melted in the process of being nuked.

To the bag’s credit, it held up longer than it probably should have before giving in to gravity.

The bottom gave way just as Castiel was carrying it over to his glass, sending a wave of scalding hot liquid all over him and the kitchen. He yelped in shocked pain when he was coated with crimson, staining his clothes and the floor, then promptly let go of the bag when he slid on the soaked floor.

Losing his footing, he slid again and crashed to floor, banging his head on the countertop on the way down.

Little black dots danced across his vision and he absently rubbed at his eyes, trying to rid himself of them.

His right eye was then set ablaze when he unthinkingly rubbed his fingers across the sensitive tear ducts.

 _“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”_ He cursed, trying to get to his feet with tears streaming down his right cheek.

Castiel made a grab for the nearest dish towel and ran it under cold water from the sink. Not bothering to even wring it out, he shoved the dripping cloth against his eye and _prayed_ that it would help his poor eye before it melted from his skull.

Frantic and half-blind, he searched for something, anything, to try to clean up the mess with before someone found him.

In his haste, he missed the presence standing on the other side of the counter.

He spun and came face-to-face with Dean.

Freezing in his tracks with his heart in his throat, sopping wet cloth still held to his eye, and his tongue still scorching, he searched for an adequate excuse.

An excuse that promptly died on his lips when he noticed the green of Dean’s eyes darken before the faintest hints of silver bled through. For a few scant seconds, he was positive that Dean was going to _eat him alive_.

Castiel watched as Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, waiting for him to start screaming at him for the mess.

Dean didn’t though.

When he opened his eyes again, they were their normal shade of iridescent green and were sparkling with a trace of amusement.

“Having trouble?”

Dean’s voice was huskier than normal, dripping like honeyed whiskey.

Castiel sighed and gestured to the mess all over himself, not missing the way Dean’s eyes raved over his form.

“Obviously.” He answered shakily, trying for dryness but failing.

Dean rounded the corner of the counter and skillfully stepped through the mess with little regard. He opened the fridge and rooted around inside for a moment or two, then emerged with a bottle of water in his hand.

He pointed Castiel to one of the barstools and nodded to his eye.

“Let me see.”

Castiel was hesitant for a minute before finally caving and letting the towel drop. Dean whistled at it and shook his head.

“I take it you found Sammy’s hot sauce.”

He chuckled and rounded the counter again, opening a cabinet under the sink and pulling a ratty towel from it, then returned, standing closer to Castiel now.

“The only way it is going to stop hurting any faster is if you flush it out. You can either do it or I can help you. Your choice.” His voice was sincere when he told him that he had a choice in the matter.

He hesitated again before relenting again and letting Dean help.

Dean made quick work of covering Castiel’s front with the ratty towel, not that it would have made much difference in the mess.

Amazingly he never actually touched him until he reached for the water bottle.

He grasped Castiel’s chin with gentle fingers and tilted his head back. Once he removed his hand, he didn’t touch him again.

Castiel didn’t miss the near longing look that Dean gave his exposed throat either, and shivered under his scrutiny.

“What happened?” Dean asked him as he unscrewed the cap on the water.

He swallowed before answering tripping over the words, “I-I, uh, was hungry, so I tried to fix some on my own, and it, uh, didn’t exactly go as planned. The bag… melted.”

The last sentence was timid and quiet, causing Dean to pause from where he was beginning to tip the bottle.

“How long did you nuke it?” He asked inquisitively.

Castiel gasped at the first splashes of cold water on his raw tear duct. Cold rivulets ran down his face and neck, a startling contrast from the hot blood he’d been covered in.

“Forty-five seconds.”

Dean laughed aloud at that.

He left Castiel in confusion until he was finished flushing his eye out.

“No more than fifteen seconds next time, okay?”

He nodded in understanding and squeezed his eyes shut for a second, relieved that his right no longer burned.

“Thank you. I’ll clean up my mess now…” He thanked him awkwardly.

Dean shook his head and made a shooing motion.

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll take care of this.”

Castiel wanted to argue but his clothes were beginning to stick to him.

He turned and went to head out, but stopped in a moment of bravery and turned back.

“Um, Dean?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah, Cas-tiel?” Dean corrected himself.

He looked down at the floor for a second before asking timidly, “Do you think that we could get some human food? I-I don’t want to be a bother or anything like that but I’m almost out of crackers and I get hungry sometimes and-”

He stopped rambling at the softness in Dean’s expression.

“Of course. You’re not a bother, Castiel.” He didn’t trip over his name that time. “I actually meant to have Sam grab you some the other day, but I had got distracted searching for someone.”

He punctuated his sentence with an arched brow, causing Castiel to blush heavily.

Castiel considered apologizing but forwent the notion, thanking him again, before slipping out of the room and back upstairs.

Later, when he returned from his impromptu shower he found a still warm glass of blood sitting on his desk, and a scrap of paper that read.

_Hot sauce not included._

_-Sam and Dean_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: We're preeetty sure that the hot sauce does not exist, but we don't know for sure.
> 
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope everyone had a fantastic Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it)!  
> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

About two weeks after his arrival, he came to a gut-wrenching realization.

The box.

He’d forgotten the single most important object in his apartment.

In a fit of wild panic, he irrationally decided that he would go retrieve it and return to the estate.

So, he changed into shorts and a t-shirt, then wrote a note on a piece of torn yellow legal pad paper and placed it on the knob of his bedroom door. It was a succinct message to the brothers, telling them he’d gone for a run and would be back by dawn.

Then, he escaped into the night.

Newport’s night scene was beautiful and picturesque in its shades of blue-gray and white.

Salt laden winds blew in from the inky ocean to his left, cooling the seasonably warm night marginally. Seagulls called in the distance, just off the sandy shoreline. The moon hung full and low, illuminating the edge of the road where sand and pavement met.

The concrete was hard and unforgiving under his feet, but he didn’t mind.

It felt so nice to run again.

Mile after mile melted away effortlessly as his legs carried him further into town, the muscles, tendons, and bones working in fluid tandem to propel him forward.

With no traffic in his way, he reached the outskirts of town just after one in the morning, slowing to a brisk walk.

Castiel weaved through the small network of roads towards the other side of Newport where his apartment resided.

He was crossing the end of one street when he caught it.

Sweet, flowery, and familiar, a scent drifted down the street, making him pause on the sidewalk.

About thirty yards down the street, he could see her emerging from the bar they went to not so long ago.

Strangely, she was alone.

He dove for the nearest alley when she started down the street towards him, presumably in the direction of her own apartment.

Pressing himself impossibly close to the bricks, willing himself to be as still and camouflaged as possible, he waited.

Hannah’s footsteps grew louder and louder until she was passing in the mouth of the alleyway.

Thankfully, she didn’t notice his presence, and for a fleeting second, he thought he was in the clear.

The wind kicked up again suddenly, blowing her scent towards him again, stronger now that she was in close proximity.

Castiel’s mouth watered and his entire body went into a different mode, the animal growling hungrily in his chest.

The next few minutes passed in a blur as his brain noticed little things.

He was following her.

She was humming some oldies tune to herself as she walked.

His jaw ached.

Her hair billowed around her as another gust of wind blew down the street.

His fingers twitched.

She suddenly stopped walking, whirling around to face him.

He lunged at her.

The half-formed scream died on her lips as he clamped one hand over her mouth, the other yanking her head to the side, exposing her neck.

Castiel didn’t register actually sinking his teeth into her neck, but the taste did.

Sweet and sharp…

Warm and lively…

It gushed into his mouth, flowing freely down his chin and neck.

_This was so much better than the bagged stuff._

Hannah struggled against him violently, fingers scrabbling at his back, arms, hands, and face. Her legs kicked at him, feeble and useless.

Gradually, her struggles lessened as he drained the life from her, drop by delicious drop.

Eventually, she slumped against him, her heart giving a few last pitiful stutters before finally giving out.

When the last of her trickling blood stopped, he let her go, watching absently as her body dropped to the pavement.

Hannah looked like a rag doll, bloody, broken, and pale, with eyes dull and lifeless.

Castiel felt nothing.

No guilt.

No remorse.

He glanced at the pawn store window beside him, studying his reflection.

His hair was wild and windblown and his tan skin practically glowed, well, the parts that weren’t obscured by thick crimson, that is.

His hands were coated in traces of blood as well.

Castiel approached the glass, still staring at his reflection.

A wide, bloody smile crept across his face.

Distantly, a woman’s laugh rang out through the still night.

~~

Castiel was up and moving before he was even fully awake, dry heaving over the edge of the bed.

His entire frame shook with the force of the vivid nightmare and he struggled to choke out his mantra through ragged gasps.

“The date…. is May 29th, 2015….” He paused, drawing in a shuddering breath before continuing.

“My name is Castiel Novak, and I live in Newport Rhode Island. I am safe and alive…”

_Kind of._

Even though the statement solidified his reality and calmed him a bit, flashes of the dream still flickered through his thoughts, making him shudder.

It had felt so real, and it truly frightened him. His mind wandered to the possibility of him acting out a dream like that while still unconscious, causing him to shake again. He could remember the night that he had sleepwalked from his bedroom to the kitchen, and woke up slumped over the small table with a horrible crick in his neck.

Castiel desperately hoped that sleep-attacking wasn’t possible.

He glanced around the room, letting its faint familiarity sink in.

Everything was in the same place he’d left it, clean and somewhat orderly, the daylight filtering through the filmy curtains.

Something by the door caught his eye, though.

He rose to his feet on trembling legs and padded towards the door, stooping carefully to retrieve the item.

In his hands was a piece of expensive gold-lined stationery, folded perfectly down the middle.

A gold W winked at him in the soft light on the top half and gorgeous, flowing cursive followed underneath it on the second. He recognized the medium of the writing, undeniably traditional glass pen and black ink.

_I had to go to town for the night to take care of some business. Sam is still there with you, though._

_Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone._

_-D_

_ _

Oddly, Castiel found himself smiling down at the piece of thick paper.

The note was short and gruff, getting straight to the point with no sugar coating in between.

Just like Dean.

He read the words again, trailing a finger over the smooth page and memorizing the infinitesimal indentions where Dean had pressed the pen harder against the page.

A strange warmth settled in his chest and his frazzled nerves calmed further.

Castiel wasn’t really sure why, but the piece of paper soothed something inside him, comforting something more primal than what his logical brain could understand.

Carefully folding the paper back in half, he padded over to his desk and opened the top left drawer. He placed the note inside and slid the drawer closed again.

He was only sentimental about a few objects, things got lost or damaged too easily to hang onto many, but he decided to keep the note anyway, choosing not to analyze any reasons why too closely.

Thoughts of the box flickered back to the forefront of his mind again, and he wondered if it was possible to retrieve it from his apartment sans disaster.

_If it’s still there._

His stomach turned at the thought of it being lost to him forever.

Shaking his head and sighing inwardly, he left his bedroom, wandering aimlessly through the long halls of the mansion. He studied the furnishings a little closer than before, mesmerized by the different styles and eras of the paintings and pottery dispersed throughout.

The pieces didn’t seem to be arranged in any particular order, just placed wherever the designer had liked.

Very few of them had any dates or distinguishing markings on them, so Castiel was left to rely on his basic knowledge of art to figure out their time periods.

He was studying a decent sized oil painting of a creek bank, littered with trees turning various shades of yellows, reds, and oranges in the autumn sun, the water sparkling lively, seeming to flow right off the edge of the canvas, when Sam found him.

“It’s pretty good, right?”

He’d been so immersed in the vivid details that he hadn’t heard Sam approach, leaving him to be startled out of his skin when he spoke.

Castiel jolted away from the painting and spun to face a faintly amused Winchester.

Recovering from his near heart-attack, he nodded and cleared his throat.

“It’s beautiful.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth quirked up and he looked like he was secretly sharing some inside joke with himself. Castiel tilted his head to the side in confusion.

Did he say something stupid?

Sam waved a hand towards the painting then spoke again, “Most of the paintings in the house were all done by the same artist, my favorite one is downstairs, actually. Care to see?”

Still confused by whatever Sam had found funny earlier, he stared at the man before nodding and gesturing for him to lead the way.

As it turns out, the painting was in the dining room, taking up most of the wall dividing it off from the kitchen.

It was a tall cherry blossom tree, with red, pink, and white blooms fluttering off the branches and fading off into the light blue-gray background. Snow sparkled around the base of the tree, throwing off tiny rainbows.

Everything from the lightness of the snow to the texture of the blooms and bark of the tree looked so incredibly real. It looked more like a photograph than an actual painting.

“This is stunning.” He tore his eyes away from it to look back at Sam. “You said that most of the paintings were done by the same artist. Who did these?”

The amused and almost mischievous glint returned to Sam’s eyes and he chuckled lightly.

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

Castiel scoffed and shook his head in disbelief.

“What is it with you two and being so cryptic all the time?

It was strange how at ease he was with the younger Winchester, openly bantering with him like they were old friends.

He couldn’t quite tell if it was just Sam or if he was actually beginning to warm up to the brothers.

They bantered flippantly back and forth about simple things, mainly the paintings and their mysterious creator. The way Sam talked about them made it seem like the answer was obvious, but still, it eluded him.

Maybe that was why, sitting on the left staircase and basking in the dimming light out the day, it seemed so easy to ask Sam about getting his things from his apartment.

The answer he received was a bit disheartening, though.

“I’m under strict orders to not let you out of the house while Dean isn’t here.”

Instantly the lightened mood dampened and turned more somber.

“Oh… okay. I understand.” Castiel really did understand, and couldn’t blame the man for following the direction he was left with, but it didn’t mean that the reality wasn’t still slightly depressing.

If he hadn’t decided to take off that day, maybe things would be a little different. Remnants of his dream also helped solidify the point, he absolutely did not want that to actually happen in any way, shape, or form.

Especially not to Hannah.

Sam’s hazel eyes softened minutely at his disappointment, and he patted Castiel on the shoulder, squeezing lightly.

“Look, I’ll see what I can do, but no promises, okay?”

He nodded his thanks and stood from his perch, stretching quickly before heading off to the library, leaving Sam on the stairs by himself.

He plucked a book from one of the shelves at random, running his finger absently over the spine, and made his way over to the huge window seat. There was a small switch beside the edge of the sill that turned on a set of yellow overhead lights, perfect for reading.

Climbing onto the seat and making himself comfortable, he glanced out the window and across the blue expanse before him.

The sun had just disappeared over the horizon being chased away by dark blues and indigos, and the stars were just beginning to twinkle overhead.

It was quiet in the mansion without the constant murmur of both brothers’ voices to fill the silent air.

Shaking away the tiny bit of longing that accompanied the thought, he cracked open the book in his hands, and began reading the first chapter of _The Sun Also Rises_ by Hemingway.

Time slipped by as he delved deeper into the post WWI expanse until his eyelids drooped and finally slid shut.

Castiel slept restlessly that night, tossing and turning on the soft padding of the window seat.

In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help feel that something was… missing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: To avoid any confusion, we felt that we needed to clarify, Castie did not kill Hannah. It was just a very vivid nightmare. :)
> 
> You guys really need to go show coldinthestudio some love and thank her for this kick ass aesthetic she made for OWAM!  
> http://coldinthestudio.tumblr.com/post/134168133407/what-did-you-do-to-me-the-words-came-out-as-a
> 
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

Dean’s opinion of the human species as a whole varied from one end of the spectrum to the other over the course of his extended lifetime.

He could remember the tragedies befallen on them, by their own hand, some he’d even seen firsthand.

Witch hunts conducted all over Europe; women’s screams echoing throughout the night, and yellow-orange embers glowing in the distance.

A gaggle of colonies fighting for their freedom, then revolting against themselves; countless deaths all for the sake of politics and owning another human.

The Ukrainian Holodomor; children withered away to nothing more than eerie skeletal remains.

Hitler’s terrors in Germany; the screams as millions begged for their lives inside cellars and crematoriums, gasping poison air.

The Great Leap Forward, coupled with the flood of the Yellow River; men devouring human flesh as a means for survival, then washing up in barren fields, skin grey and lifeless.

Grand acts of terrorism in the United State of America; men and women falling from nearly 1,400ft because it was better than a steel and concrete tomb.

Dean had watched many of these tragedies, seemingly impassive, but with a heavy heart.

At one time in his life, he’d had hope for humanity. He’d had hoped that they would rise from their ashen past anew, but was ultimately disappointed.

Humans liked control, the more the better, over _everything_. Whether it be their own lives or lives of millions, they wanted dominance over each other, their desire for such becoming almost… overwhelming.

Dean could remember the disasters that ensued by nature’s hand as well.

Earthquakes with the ground trembling under their feet.

Tornadoes throwing their existence into the skies above.

Droughts bringing arid Hell and the forest fires as a result.

Hurricanes, tsunamis, and floods all turning the tables and killing them with something so precious and necessary for their daily life.

That was only a few.

Then there was the most terrifying of all.

Sickness.

Whenever a new wave would hit, then or now in the present day, humans stood paralyzed for a moment, their true form exposed, breaths halted and hearts still in fear.

They were fragile and weak, so easily erased from existence. Under every domineering guise, they all shared the same structure, the same weaknesses.

Some claimed it was wrath from a vengeful god, others believed it to be natural evolution.

Before the age of effective medicines, maladies would sweep through with no regard for the effected. They dropped like flies, slaughtered by some unseen force. Elderly crumpled and children were stolen away in the space of a heartbeat.

Dean believed it was easier back then.

Death was not uncommon, and while it was still agonizing, it was the reality of the time period.

In the present day, with medical and scientific advances being made every day, it gave them hope. A hope that could still be crushed, making the blow that much more excruciating.

Illnesses were not solely a human problem either, though.

Vampires relied on humans as a life source even more than what they did now.

While mostly impervious to the bacteria and viruses in the air around them, blood borne diseases and influenzas still crippled them. Clean, untainted blood was incredibly difficult to come by at certain points of his life.

He could remember when the Bubonic Plague swept through Europe, and the putrid taste of death on his tongue when he’d miscalculated and fed on an infected. Dean had shown symptoms of the plague himself, and had laid in delirium for three months while his system fought hard against the diseased blood festering inside him.

In contrast, despite its flaws, humanity had its lighter moments, too.

Acts of kindness big and small, accomplishments that no one thought possible, and precious moments caught like snapshots throughout time, occasionally restored his faith and hope.

Kindness, whether it be in the form of simply helping elderly with medial tasks or protecting strangers that practiced a different religion from death. Where some humans were insistent on chaos, others strove to give back and be kind to the world.

Humans had looked across unknown lands, endless oceans, and vast open skies with determination. If they could see it, they were unwavering in their efforts to explore it.

They found joy in firsts as well.

First words, first steps, first days, first dates, and first kisses. The beginnings of things were so exciting, so fascinating to them.

It reminded Dean of himself, of how he was with Sam.

He could remember the moment Sam came into this world, crying and screaming, a tiny bundle of life that had instantly stolen Dean’s heart.

That was one of the best and worst days of Dean’s life.

The council, at the time, had come down to oversee the birth and pronounce the baby’s healthiness. They watched somberly and almost uninterestedly throughout Mary’s labor, but the moment the baby came out tinier and frailer than he should have been, they’d sprang into action.

They demanded that he be killed immediately, that stunted vampires were a disgrace to their species, but John and Mary would not let that happen.

John had wrapped Sam up in a wool blanket and placed him in Dean’s arms, ordering him to run as far and as fast as he could.

He and Sam bolted out into the night, hiding away until the fight was over.

John and Mary had emerged a few hours later with steel in their eyes, triumphant in their battle to keep their second son.

The rest was history.

Even with all the horrors and all the enchantments of humanity that Dean had witnessed, none of them were as perplexing and enigmatic as Castiel Novak.

The man swung from one mood to the next seamlessly; calm and complacent one minute to furious and unruly the next.

Dean could barely get him to speak to him, and when he did it was short, skittish replies and half formed excuses to escape.

By all accounts, it didn’t make sense.

He seemed more at ease with his brother than himself, which Dean found quite irritating and maybe a little offensive. Castiel talked more freely with Sam and didn’t seem to be as frightened by him as he was prone to be with Dean.

Okay, so maybe Dean was a little jealous.

His own mate wouldn’t have anything to do with him, but he’d chat away with his brother like they were best friends.

That afternoon, was a prime example of why Dean was so hurt by their kinship.

He and Sam had been sitting at the bar in the kitchen, going over the details of a trip that Sam had taken a month or so before Castiel’s arrival and the plans for a future one he might have to take soon, when Sam had voiced his concerns about leaving Castiel alone at the estate with Dean.

Before he could even sputter out his offense or Sam could explain his insane reasoning, the man in question stumbled through the kitchen, sweet smelling and adorably disheveled. His hair had stuck up in eighty different directions on one side and was smashed flat on the other and his right cheek adorned a few charming pillow creases. He’d passed by both of them without saying anything, yawning sweetly and scratching his head idly. Immediately, he began rifling around inside the fridge, tossing a bag of blood on the counter without even bothering to read what kind it was.

Both brothers stifled a laugh when he’d glared sleepily at Sam’s hot sauce, pushing it out of the way to find his own smaller bottle of Tabasco behind it.

They watched, amused, as he swayed his way around the chrome and black, putting the blood in the microwave and studiously punching in twelve seconds, double checking the time, and reaching overhead for a glass.

Dean swallowed hard when Castiel followed through the stretch, popping his back and shoulders, and nearly groaned aloud when a satisfied moan pushed past the man’s lips.

Sam caught onto his struggle and smirked.

Castiel rumbled around for a few more seconds, pulling his bag from the microwave carefully, then pouring its contents in the glass.

His brother chuckled when he shook out a few drops into his glass.

“Good morning to you too, Cas.”

Dean waited for the inevitable correction of the shortened version of Castiel’s name, but to his utter bewilderment, it didn’t come.

He merely raised a dark eyebrow and grunted out something close to a “morning, Sam” in between sips of his drink, and ambled his way back out of the kitchen.

Dean gaped after him in amazement, staring a hole in the wall he disappeared behind.

_That one stung._

“Not much of a morning person is he?”

Sam raised both eyebrows at his lack of response and waved a hand in front of his face.

“Dude, Earth to Dean.”

His attention snapped back to his brother and the accusation flew from his lips before the thought even fully formed in his head, jealousy coloring the words.

“You called him, _Cas_.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and his face contorted into an expression of confusion.

“Yeah…? So?”

Dean threw his hands up and made a frustrated noise.

“If I try to do that, the guy nearly bites my head off, but if _you_ call him that…” He trailed off for a moment before continuing, “Why does he hate me so much?”

The question was so quiet and full of hurt, and he could see Sam’s eyes soften in response.

He didn’t want his brother’s pity, but he did need answers. So, if that meant sitting through some touchy-feely, Dr. Phil type bullshit, then so be it.

“I don’t think he hates you, Dean. Well, not as much as you think.”

It was Dean’s turn to raise both eyebrows.

“Look at it this way, he was ripped, quite violently, away from his normal life by complete strangers, turned into a monster, and relocated to an entirely different home.” He paused. “Dean, as much as you and I both want to deny it, there’s something else wrong. This isn’t his first encounter with our kind, so maybe that’s playing a factor in it, too.”

“Okay, so say that’s all true, that still leaves a question. Why does he hate me when he’s clearly comfortable around you?”

“He’s scared of you.”

The thought of the statement being true was like a knife twisting deep in his gut, leaving ragged and ugly gashes in its wake.

He didn’t want Castiel to be scared of him, he wanted him to feel safe and happy and cared for and all the bullshit girly feelings that Dean himself had put off for so long and eventually become numb to.

Dean, with all his fucked up and twisted convictions, liked to think he was a gentleman at heart. He wanted to get to know Castiel outside of what he’d witnessed over the past month or so, he wanted to court him and show him that he wasn’t really all that bad. It was sappy and romantic and genuinely everything Dean was supposed to be the opposite of, but he didn’t care.

Just because his biology said that he was supposed to fall in love instantly, didn’t mean he’d have to adhere to it. He’d made a similar mistake before and had paid the price oh so dearly.

No, if he wanted to actually have a relationship with the whirlwind of blue eyes, oscillating sentiments, and misplaced mannerisms, he was going to do it right.

“Where do I start?”

Sam gave him a soft smile and started filling him in on a few key things, giving him pointers and a solid place to start.

He was grabbing his keys when something occurred to him.

“Shouldn’t this be the other way around? Shouldn’t I be the one giving you relationship advice and pointers on how to woo everyone? I mean, I am the older brother here.”

His brother laughed, “Probably, but hasn’t everything always been ass backwards with us anyway?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this one took so long, writer's block is truly the worst thing ever.   
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

The ‘charm’ in the saying, ‘third time’s the charm’, was completely obliterated the moment Dean stepped foot in Castiel’s apartment, _again_.

A short, round man with salt-and-pepper grey hair and smelled of stale cigarettes was standing in the middle of the living room when Dean came through the door, staring in outright horror at the disaster area.

The man whirled to face Dean when he heard him approach.

“Who are you?” His voice was brittle and wheezy, probably from years of smoking, laced with an oddly placed southern accent.

Dean put his hands up quickly, trying not to startle the guy, “Easy, I’m just a… friend of Castiel’s.”

He watched the man’s eyes narrow in suspicion at his pause.

“Right. What are you doin’ here, _friend-a-Castiel’s_?”

“I’m looking for him, actually.” He lied, hoping the man wouldn’t catch it. He stepped forward, ignoring the glass crunching underfoot, and offered the man his hand, “Benjamin Rosewood, but, uh, just call me Ben.”

The man took his hand, giving a much firmer grip than he’d expected.

“Scott Palmer.”

Dean gave the man a small smile and released his hand. Scott returned it briefly and crossed his arms.

“So, Ben, ya mind tellin’ me who you are to the Novak boy and why yer really here?”

Dean’s smile dropped.

“Because, you ain’t no friend of Castiel’s, I can tell you that much.”

Eyeing the man warily, he asked him, “What makes you say that?”

“Because the boy only has two friends. One’s a loud mouth Brit who tried to propositionin’ my wife and the other’s a pretty young lady who’s always tryin’ to get the Brit to shut up. Sorry, son, as pretty as you are, yer hair iden long enough and your accent ain’t right to be either. So, I’ll ask again, who are ya and why are you here?”

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

_Dammit._

“Alright, you caught me. I’m not one of his friends. I’m his… boyfriend.” He could feel his cheeks flame as soon as the words were said.

_BOYFRIEND? Really!? Of all the things you could have told him, you chose THAT!?_

His internal kicking was interrupted by Scott’s sharp laugh, that nearly immediately dissolved into a fit of wet, hacking coughs.

“I knew it!” He wheezed out after the fit.

“Um…”

“I _knew_ that boy didden fly straight.”

“Mr. Palmer…”

“That explains why you just walked in like ya owned the place, too…. Wait a minute.” He rounded on Dean swiftly, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Are you the reason he has them nightmares? Because boy, if you’ve laid a ha-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, no. I’ve never hurt Castiel, and what do you mean nightmares?” Dean interjected.

The same look of suspicion from earlier returned to Scott’s face.

“You mean ya never heard him kick up a fuss with a bunch of hollerin’ in the middle of the night? He done it ever since he moved into this place, worried me at first but I got used to it after he just insisted that he was alright every night.”

“I heard a racket a little while back, awfulest thing you ever did hear, hadden heard anythin’ else since. His rent was due yesterdey mornin’, and if one thing’s fer sure, Novak always pays on time. So, I thought I’d come on up here and see if he’s alright and found this mess. Looks like a damn tornada run through the door.”

“Y’all wudden fightin’ was ya?”

Having heard all he needed, Dean offered Scott another smile, running his tongue over his incisors, poking at the backs of them to release the tiny bit of toxin in them. Said toxin made humans extremely susceptible to suggestion and permanent memory alterations.

Sam didn’t like it and claimed it always made him feel similar to a snake.

Dean couldn’t find it in him to care.

Before a sound could escape Palmer’s mouth, Dean grabbed him, clamped a hand over his mouth, and buried his teeth in the crook of his neck, drinking hastily. His blood tasted sickly sweet with diabetes and held the bitter aftertaste of nicotine.

_Gross._

With his right hand over his mouth and his left closed tightly over his wrist, he easily kept track of Palmer’s slowing pulse, pulling away at the exact point where he would be sleepy enough for the venom-like substance to take full effect.

Grasping Scott’s face with both hands and focusing silvery eyes on him, he began speaking lurid and distinct, watching for every minute expression. For the moment, Scott’s was blank and blissful.

“Mr. Palmer, I want you to listen to what I’m saying. You’re going to listen and follow what I say, okay?”

Palmer’s eyes turned glassy in response and he nodded slightly.

“Good, Mr. Palmer, you’re doing very well. Now, you have never met me in your life and will not recognize me ever again. You have never met a man named Benjamin Rosewood. You never came into this apartment and you never saw the mess here. Castiel Novak paid his rent on time and paid it in advance for the next year, the check will arrive at 6PM tonight and you will pick it up then. You will not come back to this apartment and you will not seek out Castiel Novak. If someone asks, you will tell them Castiel Novak is on vacation and will not return soon. Understand?”

Another nod accompanied by a droopy, drooling smile.

“Very good, we’re almost done. You are going to go home and you are going to tell your wife that you love her very much. You are going to throw every pack of cigarettes you have away and you will not buy more. You are going to the doctor tomorrow and you are going to get tested for diabetes. You are going to live a long and happy life. Now, repeat that all back to me so I know you understand.”

The entire last list of orders wasn’t really necessary, but Dean was going to help the guy as much as he could.

Scott rambled all the orders back to him in perfect clarity, missing nothing.

“Thank you Mr. Palmer, you did excellent. Go home now.”

He watched as Scott Palmer pseudo-drunkenly ambled his way out of the apartment, never looking back, then rubbed his hand over his face again.

After locking the door, he began cleaning up the remnants of Castiel’s apartment as quickly as possible. His kind were pretty quick on their feet, not idiotically fast like Twilight fairy-vamps, but still fairly fast.

So, within a little over three hours, he’d restored the apartment to the best of his ability without calling in a clean-up crew (yes, they had those) and was searching for anything that his mate might value.

Problem was, there wasn’t much Castiel _didn’t_ value.

It had always struck him as odd and slightly endearing that Castiel loved so many little things.

Things like his coffee cup with a bee on it, his ridiculous trench coat, and tattered copy of _By Oath Consigned_.

All of said things were sitting in a bundle by the door, ready to go whenever he was. He picked up a few other oddities from the living room and kitchen, setting them near the door, before moving into the bedroom.

It and the bathroom were the only places in the apartment left relatively intact.

The white blanket was still rumpled and pushed to one side from the last time Castiel slept in it and random objects were littered across it and the floor alongside it.

Apparently, the nightstand drawer had been emptied previously and, from the looks of it, very hastily. Gathering the two books that were lying in the midst of the mess, he turned his attention to the closet.

Everything was neat and orderly inside, from the three suit jackets and their accompanying slacks to the pair of shiny dress shoes and well-worn tennis shoes. He was about to dismiss the closet entirely, save the tennis shoes, when something tucked in the far left corner caught his eye.

It was half hidden under an old, purple and black hand-woven Native-American blanket. Once the blanket was moved and carefully set aside, it revealed a fairly sizeable wooden box shut tight with a lock

The box itself was a piece of art in itself, and it reminded him of the one that resided in the library’s display case. Ebony wood was carved delicately into beautifully intricate swirls across all sides of the box and was smooth and glossy to the touch. Silvery steel hinges bumped against his questing fingers and the lock was heavy and cool in his palm.

What stunned Dean the most was the embellishment on the lid.

Whoever the craftsman was that made the box had an eye for fluidity and cohesiveness in their pieces, from the carving and real silver plated lid.

A large tribal style dragon, Celtic if Dean had to guess, was carved into the top of the box. The head faced to the left with slanted, snake-like eyes and each wing stretched across to the far corners, spread wide and fierce. A sharp tail curled in on itself on the bottom edge nearest the lock. Laced all throughout, in the point of the tail, the high arches of the wings, and the eyes of the dragon were slivers of real, genuine silver.

It was stunning.

He palmed the lock again, eyes grazing over the industrial tumblers with tiny numbers engraved on them. It looked large and clunky against the elegance of the box, but Dean wasn’t stupid, he knew something important had to be inside.

Normally, in any other situation like this one, his curiosity would get the better of him and he’d pick or break the lock, but he didn’t with this one.

There was something personal about this box, it begged him to let it keep its secrecy intact, no matter how tempting the heaviness of its contents. He thought back to his mate, considering if Castiel would appreciate him looking inside without explicit permission.

The answer was clear.

Castiel would most certainly _not_ appreciate that.

He ran a thumb over the engravings once more, reveling in the textures of the smooth wood and the slight sting of the silver.

Carefully, he scooped it up setting it next to the books on the bed, and, after a little deliberation, he tossed the blanket on the pile as well.

Dean made his run through of the bathroom short and sweet, taking note of the brands of shampoo and soap that were inside the shower, as well as the bottles of cologne and aftershave inside the mirrored medicine cabinet.

He wrinkled his nose at the smell of the cologne, too dry and pungent for his taste. It definitely did not suit Castiel, so he put it back with a noise of disgust.

Dean could think of a certain blend of scents that would smell divine soaked into Castiel’s tan skin, though…

Snapping himself out of it, he uncapped the aftershave and gave it a sniff. It was slightly better with its faint hints of citrus. He took it with him out of the bathroom and gathered everything from the bed, making his way to the door.

It took two trips to get his armfuls of oddities into the trunk of the Impala, but he managed.

After making a trip to the bank and dropping the rent check off at the apartment, he made a stop at the local supercenter and picked up a few more items, winking at the blushing cashier as he left.

With all his prizes in tow, he made his way back to the estate, mouthing along with Hetfield about awaiting an electric death and tapping in time with Lars’s drum beats.

He left everything in the Impala after he pulled into the garage, wanting to scope everything out and take care of one last thing first.

Trotting through the long halls, he weaved his way through the library and into his office. He opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled the small case resting in the bottom from it.

Unhooking the small latch that kept it closed, he plucked his favorite glass quill pen and ink bottle from it and a piece of stationery from the stack on the corner of the desk.

The pen, clear glass with whirls of grey-black twisting down from the nib, wrote fluidly with the ink from the matching ink bottle. A bottle that was short but wide and twisted to give it better gripping edges with a black metal cap.

Dean quickly scrawled out a note in looping cursive, folding it down the middle like before and carried with him out of the office.

Sam would most definitely make fun of him if he knew Dean was using his prized quill and ink set on his expensive stationery to write notes like some cliché awestruck lover, especially when Dean used neither for anything else.

He bounded back out the car and began toting everything back in, letting it pile up on the foyer table until he managed to get it all in.

There was no response when he knocked on Castiel’s bedroom door, so he let himself in. He could see the thick trails of steam waft from the cracked bathroom door and for a moment, he stood frozen in his tracks. In his mind’s eye, he could see Castiel as clear as day through that door. He could see the tan expanse of his mate’s body covered in soap suds, water sluicing away the white bubbles and he itched to chase the phantom droplets with his fingers and tongue. Dean briefly wondered what sounds would emanate from those lips, low or high, and how glassy those azure eyes would become once arousal spiked in his veins.

He had to stop and steady himself before his fantasies went too far, breathing deeply through his mouth and ignoring the taste of his own arousal and his mate’s scent twining in the air.

The reminder of his original mission resurfaced to the forefront of his mind and he shook his head vigorously before setting out to complete it.

Carefully, he placed every item he’d brought back on the end of the bed along with the note.

Dean succeeded in getting everything put where he wanted it before the shower even cut off.

Happy with himself and with satisfaction bubbling in his chest, he jogged downstairs and shut himself in his office, content to spend the day catching up on any necessary paperwork.

If everything went as well, parts of his new grand plan would fall in with each other quite nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part one of our (belated) Christmas gift to you guys!  
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> (Make sure to check out 13 as well!)
> 
> ~K & J

So maybe a hot shower wasn’t the best idea after all.

Castiel had hoped that it would soothe the uncomfortable sensation building low in his stomach, but it only served to make it worse.

Now he was faced with a very hard and quite annoying problem.

The staring match he was having with his dick was not helping either way. It simply hung hard and heavy in between his legs, almost innocently, but with no intention of settling down, even after being soaked in freezing cold water.

_Persistent little bastard._

This was ridiculous.

Seeing as he had done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary this morning, he couldn’t understand why he was suddenly faced with an impatient and insistent erection.

The low fire had started when he was in the middle of fixing his meal earlier that afternoon, completely unbidden and foreign to him, and had only gotten worse.

Sighing tiredly, he rubbed a wet hand over his eyes, before finally giving in.

Masturbation wasn’t an activity he regularly participated in, but he knew what to do and how to do it to get himself off the quickest, so it honestly wasn’t that big of a hassle.

It was more the concept of it, which he would deliberate over later because _holy hell when did this start to feel this way?_

Usually, with one hand stroking his cock and the other toying idly with one of his nipples, he could bring himself to a mediocre, at best, orgasm.

Today though, his body seemed to be hyperaware and more sensitive than usual.

Sparks skittered up and down his spine as his hand moved faster, grip on both areas increasing a bit more. The mix of pleasure-pain had his nerves singing and his vision whiting around the edges in no time and before he knew it, he was biting into the meat of his palm to keep from moaning out loud when he hit his peak. He could taste a smidgen of his own blood through the haze.

After washing away the traces of his intense _self-car_ e session, he slumped against the shower wall, sliding down it slowly. The cooling spray of water soaked over his back and shoulders and his face when he lifted it a bit, and gradually the stifling heat that had built up in his body seeped away.

Now shivering and cold, he shut off the shower and dried himself off with one of the huge white towels hanging on the rack beside it.

Much like his room, Castiel’s en suite bathroom was lavish and stunning. White marble with gold flecks topped the available surfaces and covered floor, while light colored alder wood held said surfaces up. The large, rectangle mirror above the grey stone vessel sink and its intriguing, circular waterfall faucet.

The overhead vanity light bar illuminated his reflection after he swiped a hand over the mirror’s steam covered surface. His skin seemed to have a glow about it, like someone had turned on a light inside him and let the luminance shine through his cracked surface.

Castiel pointedly tried did not think about what put that glow there, instead choosing to cast a look out of the small glass door that led to the balcony and at the darkening June sky.

Somehow his release of tension allowed a bit of bravery to seep into his bones. He’d been told very sternly to not leave the house without permission first, for his safety and others, and he’d been fine with that. He could understand the brothers’ wariness to have him wander in and out as he please, it made sense, truly it did.

Unfortunately, one could only spend so much time holed up in the amazing library for so long before going a little stir crazy.

He planned to ask if it was alright for him to explore the mansion’s grounds, so long as he promised to stay inside the gates perimeter.

With a plan in mind, he departed from the bathroom in search of clean clothes.

Castiel stopped short just outside of the bathroom though, his heart lodging in his throat when he saw the bed.

Items from his old apartment lay carefully placed on the bed, interspersed with a handful of newer, still packaged items as well. After locking the door, he padded over to the bed slowly, dropping the towel on his way so he could pick up each object.

In hindsight, it was probably strange of him to stand there nude, staring at remnants of his human past, but he didn’t care.

Several different books sat in stacks amongst a few dinky figurines he’d collected as a child and his favorite mug along with a fresh, unopened bag of the coffee he’d normally kept stock in his old kitchen were beside the tomes. Two new packs of t-shirts, his brand of shampoo, soap, and aftershave, and a package of plastic combs were bundled together as well, next to them, his old running shoes. 

His breath caught in his throat at the sight of what rested at the head of the bed. His oversized trench coat, treasured blanket, and box were nestled together amongst his pillows, and a familiar piece of stationery lay on top of the box’s lid.

With trembling fingers, he picked up the note and read the beautiful script there.

_I grabbed a few things from your old apartment earlier. Sorry if this seems like an invasion of your privacy or something, but I thought I would try to bring you a few pieces of your old life. If I forgot anything important let me know and I’ll go grab it for ya. I also picked up a few other things from the store, too. They should fit, but I can take them back if they don’t._

_I’ll be in my office if you need me._

_-D_

Once again, he found himself running fingers over the tiny indentions on the thick paper, and smiling down at it.

Castiel took his time getting dressed in one of his new t-shirts, a maroon colored one with grey stitching that stretched snugly across his shoulders without being too tight, and an old pair of dark jeans.

Then he pattered around his room, setting his gifts about it where he saw fit, and placing the note in the drawer along with the other.

Even with his little burst of confidence and the warmth of gratitude spreading in his chest, Castiel was still a little anxious as he padded down the library stairs.

He mentally pep talked himself the whole short journey and still wasn’t quite as ready as he’d liked to have been, but he didn’t give himself a chance to back out.

Rapping his knuckles on the doorframe, he announced his presence, twitching at the resulting, muffled ‘come in’ on the other side.

Castiel turned the knob and pushed the door open a fraction, peeking his head in slightly.

“I apologize if I’m intruding or interrupting anything.”

Dean frowned at him from behind a massive mahogany desk and gestured for him to step further inside.

“No, no, you’re not interrupting anything. Come in.”

Dean’s office was, surprisingly, warm and inviting with its tones of burnt oranges and soft browns. Two chairs like the ones in the library sat on the other side of the desk and a matching couch was butted up against the right wall. A smaller version of the giant window seat in library resided on the left wall as well.

Castiel took the chair on the left and sat staring down at his hands.

Now that he was in the same space as Dean again, any semblance of control over the situation evaporated, leaving him a nervous and jittery mess.

This was a terrible idea.

Neither one said a word and for a few minutes the only sound that could be heard was Dean’s pen scratching on a piece of paper.

Castiel’s thoughts whirled around in his head, a million different things to say, two million questions to ask, but none of them sounded right. He could simply tell Dean thank you and leave, or he could man up and ask about going outside.

It had seemed so easy in the safety of his room, but now with emerald green eyes flicking up and looking at him every few seconds, he couldn’t find it in him to move or speak.

“Did I forget something important?”

He’d been so caught up in his own thoughts that he jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice, his head snapping up quickly to meet Dean’s eyes.

“O-Oh, no. No, I think you grabbed everything.” He closed his eyes briefly and took in a steadying breath.

“No, I came down here to thank you. That was very kind of you to drive all the way back for a bunch of silly old memories.”

When he met Dean’s eyes again, some unnamed emotion was swirling in their jade depths.

“They’re not silly, Castiel. They are a part of you that I thought you might want back.”

Those words made his heart do a funny flip in his chest. He didn’t know that this man could be so sweet, but, then again, he didn’t really know much about him at all.

“I appreciate the effort either way.” He paused again and bit his lip.

Now came the hard part.

“I also wanted to ask you something.”

He took Dean’s arched eyebrow as a signal to go on.

“I know that you said I was not to leave the house, for my safety as well as the human population’s, and I understand that, I do, but I am going a bit mad in here. I was wondering if it was possible for me to explore the grounds a little?” His voice became smaller and smaller with every word.

Dean folded his hands in his lap and sat back, taking his time to mull over the question and letting his gaze rake over Castiel. A deep flush settled over his skin at Dean’s appraisal and he twitched in his seat.

“I need your word that you will not leave the grounds and you will stay inside the gates at all times.”

A sparkle of hope glimmered in his chest.

“Of course.”

“Castiel, I’m trusting you with this. Don’t make me regret it.”

The tone of Dean’s voice said that he meant business and not to test him. It also elicited a small shiver to emanate from Castiel.

“Keep in mind while you’re exploring, that if you run, I will find you. Trust me, Castiel, you won’t like what will happen if I have to come after you, again. I was irrevocably kind the first time because you were scared, but I won’t be so forgiving if it happens again. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes, sir.” It was a knee-jerk response, but it caused silver to flicker minutely in Dean’s eyes, and Castiel would have missed it had he not been subconsciously leaning closer to Dean.

The heat from earlier was starting up again, startling him into action.

Castiel bolted from the room, tossing a quick ‘thank you’ over his shoulder on his way out.

He missed Dean’s surprised huff of laughter in his haste.

It was peaceful outside of the mansion, the diurnal creatures scampering away to their homes as the nocturnal ones came out to play. The air was comfortably warm, in the high sixties if he had to guess, and a light breeze wafted across the grounds from the sea.

Castiel started his journey simple, walking down the length of the driveway towards the gate. It was only about seven in the afternoon, and it being June meant that the light would last for a few more hours at least, gradually dimming from skyline blue to midnight purples over the course of his exploration.

Shadows danced across the pavement in the dying light, throwing abstract pictures onto his hands and arms as he walked. Squirrels and birds flitted about in the birch branches above his head, chittering away to one another, probably poking fun at the strange man that walked under them.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the end of the drive and come to a stop in between the two peculiarly placed willow trees. He didn’t know if they were there for a specific reason or if it was just a matter of coincidence, but something instinctively told him it was the former.

For a few moments he studied the long, feathery branches that brushed the ground, marveling at the texture of each oblong leaf against his fingertips. Castiel was careful not to pull any leaves from either tree, feeling as if that would be crime against their elegant beauty.

He gave the tall stone pillars with their engraved W’s a passing glance when he turned right and began pacing back towards the mansion.

Outside of the tree line was a large stretch of manicured grass that gradually faded into the rocky cliff facing that lead down to the water. There wasn’t much to see on that side of trees except for the exquisite view of endless ocean.

He made his way around the edge of the property, staying on the median of dirt that lied between the edge of the grass and the beginnings of the cliff, occasionally peering out across the water and at the stars that were slowly beginning to make their appearance.

Eventually, he circled around the back of the house, taking note of what was probably a pool next to it.

The terrain started to change slightly under his feet as he rounded the right side of the mansion. Where the dirt was rocky and packed, it started to sink under his weight, giving way more easily.

Ahead of him were multitudes of waist high weeds and wildflowers growing haphazardly. He bent down and felt of the soil, surprised to find it lush and nutrient rich.

He was standing in the middle of what was once a garden.

The closer he looked, the more he could see the original paths of growth that the plants had taken before overgrowing and running rampant. Small stones had lined the flower beds before being overtaken and pushed out of the way.

Castiel delved further into the remnants of the garden and found a medium sized manmade pond, laden with algae, and what looked to be a rotting bench with an overhead sunshade. Vines had twined themselves around the arms and panels of the bench, weaving tightly together to form a green-brown network that spiraled across the entire expanse.

It was easy to imagine how beautiful the garden must have once looked in full bloom, and a heaviness settled in his chest over the thought of why someone would let it falter and die away to no more than weeds.

Something big must have happened to let it go like this.

Dean didn’t seem the type to do something like gardening, but then again, neither did Sam.

As he carefully weaved his way back out of the garden and into the house, he wondered who it had belonged to.

He also wondered if they would mind him trying to bring it back to life, because it truly was a shame for a beautiful spot and such good soil to go to waste.

When he gathered his wits and courage about him again, he’d ask Dean if it was okay for him to toil away in it.

With plans of how to redo the beds floating around in his head, he headed for the library, intent on seeing if the brothers possessed a book on Rhode Island’s botanical growth.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was part two of our (belated) Christmas gift! We hope you had a wonderful holiday and have a spectacular new year!  
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	15. Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

The shrill ringing of his alarm clock jolted him awake, tearing him away from another dream about a beautiful blonde-haired woman with chocolate brown eyes.

He muffled his groan into his pillow and blindly searched for the source of that awful noise before it woke up the entire house. As much as he loved aggravating Dean, he really wasn’t in the mood to listen to him bitch about being woken up earlier than normal again.

He rolled onto his back and rubbed at his eyes, saying goodbye to the literal woman of his dreams that visited him every so often. Sam didn’t know who she was or why she kept appearing in his dreams, but, honestly, he wasn’t going to complain.

Swinging his legs over the edge of his bed, he heaved himself off the mattress before he sunk back into the ever tempting comfort it offered and essentially shot his plans for the day all to hell.

He yawned hugely and padded his way out of his bedroom, headed for the kitchen.

Sam blamed the fact that he’d stayed up an almost ridiculous amount of time looking into the strange reports that Benny had sent over via email for his tiredness.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t finished all of it the day before and was going to have to pick it up again. To say he wasn’t looking forward to it was a massive understatement.

He could pawn it off on Dean since, technically, it was his job, but he wouldn’t do that to his brother. Dean had enough on his plate already with being the face of two states, not to mention a newly turned mate who wouldn’t give him the time of day.

The latter was amusing but also kind of saddening.

It was funny to see his normally cool, calm, and collected tough-as-nails brother get all twisted up over someone as much as he did Castiel. He’d seen Dean sneak over to Castiel’s room a few times now when he didn’t think anyone was watching and slip a piece of stationery under the door like some cliché awestruck lover.

Sam had let it slide out of pity for his brother, but once things smoothed out between him and his mate, he’d definitely be making fun of him for it.

On the other more somber hand, Dean’s pitifully hurt look when Castiel skirted away from him or the way Castiel always looked a breath away from saying or asking Dean something, only to snap his mouth shut and avoid doing so, were frustratingly sad.

It made Sam wonder if having a mate would even be something he’d want, if that was even possible.

Sure, not all situations were like his brother’s, but Sam knew his own luck, or lack thereof.

If he was to somehow find his mate, which, from everything he’d ever been told, would be virtually impossible since he was stunted, it would be in his cards to screw something up along the way.

So, while standing in the kitchen, sleepily shaking hot sauce into his breakfast, Sam decided he was okay living out the rest of his life without a mate. Yes, it would be a lonely existence but he’d always have Dean, and, eventually, Cas.

Satisfied that he’d, once again, solved one of his life’s problems, he trudged towards the library, sipping absently at a drink he could barely taste.

He was sitting at the desk in front of library’s bay window, halfway through comparing populace numbers from the late 1800’s and now, when he heard light footsteps on the landing above. It took him all of two seconds to figure out who was it was, and he didn’t even bother lifting his head when Castiel entered the library.

Sam did, however, look up when he felt Castiel staring at him.

“What’s up, man?”

“I’m sorry for interrupting your reading.”

He waved off the apology with a hand and stood from the desk.

“It was boring anyway. Need help with something?”

Castiel rubbed at the back of his neck for a second before asking, “Do you happen to have any reading material on theology?”

“Uh… I’m not sure, actually. Why?”

That was a lie, of course. They had at least ten different books on the subject, but Sam wanted to see where this was going.

“I wanted to compile some course material for my classes. It’s very unlikely that I will go back to teaching but I’m sure the next professor would appreciate having a rough outline of where my last courses left off.”

_Oh._

“I think we have a few somewhere but I don’t know where.”

Another lie. He knew exactly where they were, on the third shelf behind the staircase, he’d helped line them there after all. Sam had a plan forming, though, so he feigned ignorance for the time being.

“I didn’t know you were a professor,” he continued when disappointment started to color Castiel’s features.

That part wasn’t a lie. Neither he or Dean had told him Castiel’s previous profession. For all Sam knew he could have been some street hooker or something.

Though, he kind of hoped his brother had better taste than that. Not that there was anything necessarily wrong with those who did what they had to in order to put food on the table, but still.

The statement seemed to perk the man up a bit, though, seeing as Castiel gave him a shy smile and descended the stairs.

“Yes, I was a Theology professor at the local university before all this. How good of one remains unknown. One of my students referred to me as a ‘hard-ass’ once, if that says anything.”

He had to laugh at that one.

Meek, timid, and socially awkward Castiel as a _hard-ass_ professor? That was something he’d love to see.

Thankfully, Castiel wasn’t offended by his laughter. Instead, he chuckled quietly as well, almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself.

“And just why would they call you something like that?”

Castiel shrugged, pacing over to one of the many chairs dispersed around the library and perching in it.

“I’m very passionate about my work and can come across as a bit… stern when I’m in my “element”, I suppose.” He made an air quotes around the word.

_Dean would find that hilariously adorable, I bet._

“I’m sure you were an excellent teacher.”

A light blush colored Castiel’s cheeks at the statement and suddenly he was very busy fiddling with the underside drawer on the coffee table in front of him. Apparently, he wasn’t expecting the drawer to actually come open and made a small sound of surprise when it did.

He padded over as Castiel pulled the only object inside the drawer out, which happened to be a deceivingly heavy chess board, and placed it on top of the table.

The board itself magically appeared in the Winchester household some years ago, neither brother entirely sure how the black and white marble slab found its way in, but neither really minded its presence either.

“Wanna play?”

“No, no, surely you have more important things to do than entertain me, Sam. I already interrupted you from your work once.”

Sam wanted to really talk to his brother’s mate and if it meant putting off his work further for a game of chess, then so be it. So, again, he waved a dismissive hand and sat across him, grabbing the two faux leather pouches of pieces from his side of the table’s drawer and tossing one to his companion.

Castiel snorted when he saw the pieces inside the bags didn’t match and held the green king piece closer to his face for inspection.

Sam laughed at his confused expression and launched into an explanation.

"This is the third set of pieces that Dean and I have been through. We've had the board since the dawn of time but we can't for the life of us keep up with the damn pieces.”

He pulled a few canary yellow pieces from his bag and set them accordingly across the board before continuing.

“We actually played with bullets once, and used .50 caliber sniper and pistol rounds as the kings and queens, then took smaller handgun bullets and used those for the rest."

Sam would actually go as far as to say that Castiel actually looked a little impressed by that.

"That's... surprisingly creative. A little disturbing that you two had the means to get your hands on such ammunition but definite points for creativity."

_We still do._

Sam wasn’t going to tell him that one, though.

"Yeah, that was a good night."

Together they set up the rest of the board, Sam the gaudy yellow and Castiel the muted grey-greens.

Once they had established that they both remembered how to play correctly, they began their game.

To his surprise, Castiel was much better at chess than Sam would have given him credit before, and it soon became clear that he was against a master strategist. He seemed to always be two steps ahead of him, anticipating Sam’s every move, and, quite frankly, the only person he’d ever seen play like that was his brother, who was an excellent strategist himself.

Contrary to a frustratingly popular belief, people, including Dean himself, didn’t see the intelligence behind his brother’s charming looks.

It exasperated Sam to no end, but at this point it was like listening to a broken record, repeating the same lyrics until one’s brain oozed out of their ears.

They didn't talk much during the first half of the game aside from Sam’s muttered curses when he’s seemingly outwitted, and, surprisingly, Castiel was the first one to break the silence.

“Sam, I must know, why do you torture yourself with that bottle of hellfire in the refrigerator?”

The question came in from so far left field, it caught him off guard and he found himself chuckling again while he moved another piece.

“Honestly, it’s because I can’t really taste it. See, over time our kind loses their sense of taste, while everything else stays heightened. People like me lose that ability even faster.”

“People like you?” Confusion colored Castiel’s voice again and a little spark of pain ignited in Sam’s chest.

_Freaks like me more like._

“It’s… a long story for another time.” He answered somberly, giving Castiel a forced smile.

Empathy flashed in Castiel’s eyes for a quick second and he nodded succinctly, sliding another of his pieces across the board.

“I understand. Why do you lose your taste ability, though?”

Relieved that the spotlight was taken off of him and all his inadequacies, he responded to his opponent’s move and continued.

“We’ve actually never been able to figure out why it happens. Some people say it’s because eventually our bodies recognize that we don’t actually need human food and just shut down the unnecessary processes for it, which would make sense except for one thing.”

“That being?”

Castiel moved again.

“Mates.”

Sam countered.

“Mates?”

Castiel’s hand stilled for a moment, then he resumed relocating his piece elsewhere, which Sam attempted to counter again.

“Yeah, one of the cliché things about being a vamp is that somewhere down the line, given that you don’t get yourself killed first, there is someone out there for you. A… soul mate almost.”

“Oh. Yes, I can see where that would be considered cliché, so to speak.”

They dropped back off into silence until Castiel decided he’d toyed around enough and wiped Sam’s remaining pieces out with shocking ease. The pair reset the board again after Sam proclaimed him the definite winner, but Castiel stood instead of joining him for another game.

“Well, thank you for entertaining me, Sam. I’ll leave you to your work now.”

Castiel was almost to the stairs before he called after him.

“You know, I bet if you asked real nicely, Dean could show you where the Theology books are. He has an index in his office that’ll lead you both right to it. I would grab it for you, but he really doesn’t like people going into his office without permission.”

Paused with one foot on the bottom step, he turned to face him again.

“I see….” He paused for a moment. “There was one other thing I wanted to ask.”

“I’m all ears.”

Again, Castiel rubbed at the back of his neck before speaking, a seemingly nervous gesture.

“The garden outside… would it be okay if I spent a little time trying to fix it? I don’t want to overstep any boundaries, but it’s a truly beautiful spot to have one and I hate to see it waste away.”

Another bolt of pain, twined with guilt, shot through him. The garden he was referring to used to belong to his mother. Sam was acutely aware of how bad it had gotten over the years but neither of the brothers possessed the heart or skill to even attempt to restore it.

His voice was probably a hint tighter than normal when he answered.

“That’s probably another thing you’ll want to ask Dean.”

On cue, another voice floated down from above.

“What all are we asking me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we decided to add in another POV here for this chapter. They will be few and far between, but, we felt we needed to have Sam voice his opinions on stuff occasionally, so, we hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	16. Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

“What all are we asking me?”

The question left his lips just as he was entering the library.

Dean already knew what was going to be asked, but he wanted to see if he could pull Castiel a bit farther out of his comfort zone and get him to talk to him more.

He stopped at the edge of the railing and peered over at his brother and mate.

Castiel was standing at the bottom of the staircase, his face trying to decide if it wanted to blanch white or flush red.

It was incredibly adorable.

_Not that he or Sam need to know that._

Sam was still lounging on the couch, fiddling with one of his chess pieces, twirling it through his long fingers easily. For a fraction of a second, he shared a look with Sam and immediately knew what was going to happen next.

“Castiel wanted to ask you a few things.”

He could always count on his little brother to shove someone into the spotlight when he needed him to.

Although, the smoky glare Castiel gave him in response would suggest that Sam would regret it later, because it was downright _scathing_. If looks could kill, Sam would be a puddle sleuthing off the end of the couch. The look was both intimidating and slightly hot, if Dean was being completely honest.

Sam didn’t seem perturbed, though.

Actually, the little shit looked smug.

_“Thank you, Sam, but it’s not important.”_ Castiel ground out.

Plastering on a tight smile, he turned his heated gaze on Dean. If one were to really look at Castiel, it would be difficult to tell that he was only a few weeks old vampire-wise, because one could almost count the expression painting his beautiful features as a challenge.

Which would be ballsy considering Dean was a governor and failed challenges were punishable by death.

That was beside the point, though.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean arched a brow at that and leaned against the railing a little more.

“Yes it is important. What do you need to ask me, Castiel?”

“I said it wasn’t important.” He snapped.

Defiance colored his face, lighting up his eyes with a subtle silver fire for a fraction of a second. It was a breathtaking sight to see his quiet, docile mate stand a little taller and try to fight back instead of cowering away like a child.

It made Dean proud.

That expression would never be forgotten. In fact, if he had time later, he might pick up an old hobby again, even if only for a night, just so he would never forget it.

“And I said, _it was_.” He reminded him lowly, “Now, what do you need to ask me?”

The sharpness of his voice made Castiel flinch minutely and he backed down some, but still kept eye contact with Dean while he spoke. Dean mentally cheered but kept his expression controlled and stoic.

“Do you happen to have any books on Theology? I’d like to compile a few lesson plans for my replacement.” Castiel’s voice was calm and quiet, not matching the still heated stare he gave him.

“Third shelf behind the staircase, a little to the left. What else is there?”

He could see Castiel starting to close back up again at the mention of this question, so he cleared his throat and motioned for him to continue.

“T-The garden outside,” he tripped over the words slightly, “may I try to bring it back to life?”

Dean mulled over the question for a few moments. He knew Sam felt poisoned by guilt and heartbreak just as much as he was for letting their mother’s prized flower garden go like they did. The sight of it, overgrown and unkempt so carelessly, made his breath stick in his throat every time. It was a disgrace to Mary’s name.

He looked to Sam again, and found his brother staring hard at the floor. The silence stretched long enough that he could hear Castiel’s heart pick up pace a bit more with nervousness, fluttering like a hummingbird in his chest.

“You may.”

Dean knew that his voice was thick and laden with emotion, but he didn’t care. Sam met his eyes and gave him a small smile, letting Dean know that even if it did hurt, he was okay with it, too.

Something occurred to him about the same time it did his brother.

“There’s only one issue with that, though…” Sam said quietly.

Castiel turned towards him, the silent question hanging indolently in the air between the three of them.

Dean could distinctively remember exactly what Sam was talking about. After Mary died, John had pitched every piece of gardening equipment in sight out into the ocean. He could remember the soft whistle as the metal and plastic pieces sailed out over the frothy waves before disappearing forever in the blue-grey void.

The only thing that had survived his father’s rage was a rusty, tiny trowel with flaking red paint. It sat frail and unused on one of the high shelves in the garage.

He could feel the disappointment begin to resonate off of Castiel and it made his heart twist in his chest.

In a striking moment of clarity, a solution occurred to him.

“I… have an idea.”

~~~

During his stalker-esque faze, he had seen Castiel go out on a run every afternoon, just before dark. Most of the time he headed for the garden district across town and occasionally down towards the shoreline.

Dean wondered if Castiel might use all of that extensive running to his advantage. He was incredibly tense under Dean’s guiding hand on his arm, poised like he was ready to take off at any given moment.

The three of them were walking in the middle of the supercenter that Dean had been in just a few days before when he bought Castiel’s things, one brother on either side of Castiel, with Dean steering them in the direction they needed to go.

“Training” is what he had elected to call this endeavor.

The plan was to take Castiel to the store so he could buy the tools he needed to begin working on the garden while also teaching him the ins and outs of interacting safely with humans again.

Everything had been going well until they had stepped foot inside. They had all climbed into the Impala and made their way into town, briny air filling the inside of the car through the open windows as they sped into town. He’d snuck as many glances at Castiel as he could get away with in the rearview mirror, ever enamored with the way the wind played havoc with his hair and how warm the sunlight made his skin look.

 As soon as they were through the door, Castiel tensed up and began to reek of distressed fear.

The smell, not unlike the pungency of rotten fruit, on top of the somehow stale and somewhat disgustingly moldy air made Dean’s head spin, but he gritted his teeth and moved on. He must have been so stuck in his own head the last time he came in here that he didn’t notice how bad the stench was, but with Castiel beside him practically emanating distress, it seemed to amplify it.

He could understand being scared of hurting someone, but the amount of outright panic radiating off of his mate worried him. Something else had to be bothering Castiel for him to put off that much. He resolved to ask him about it once they were finished.

Blessedly, the gardening aisle were clear.

After giving him a meaningful look, Dean let go of his arm and took a small step back. Sam browsed at the end of the aisle, subtly watching the both of them whilst giving them room, while Dean hovered a few feet away, reading the labels on various seed packets.

When given room, Castiel took the opportunity to close his eyes and inhale deeply. Dean hoped it was all in an effort to better orient himself with the onslaught of smells, and it seemed like he was right.

He knew what Castiel was having to dissect and how overwhelming it could be.

Unknowingly, he breathed deeply with Castiel, studying each of the smells himself.

In the grocery department, he could pick out at least three things that had started to go bad. One being milk in one of the less cold parts of the refrigeration unit, another being chicken that was starting to turn green on the underside, and the last being… spinach, he believed.

Somewhere in the clothing or possibly electronics, there was an older woman who smelled of mothballs and cinnamon candies.

On the far side of the store were two more scents but they weren’t close enough to be discernable. They seemed slightly familiar but Dean didn’t pay much mind after that.

Under the harsh fluorescent lighting, Castiel’s face began to color more instead of being the stark white that it had been when they’d first arrived, and he seemed to visibly relax a bit more. He flitted about the aisles quickly, picking up whatever he needed, plus a handful of seed packets to get him started once the weeds had been cleared.

It soon became clear that the three of them were not going to be able to carry everything he needed all at once, so Sam volunteered and trotted off to the other side of the store for a shopping cart.

He and Castel both tensed when the smell of mothballs and cinnamon candy was suddenly upon them. An older lady with glasses, wispy white hair, and a bright orange walker rounded the end of the aisle, making a beeline for right next to where Castiel was still standing, frozen in place.

A tiny gasp escaped her lips and a huge smile broke out on her face as she shuffled closer to him.

“Jimmy? Is that you?” She asked him

The woman seemed oblivious to his discomfort, choosing to sidle up even closer. Castiel shot him a look of pure terror, blue eyes screaming at him to help.

“U-Uh, n-no ma’am, my name isn’t,” he paused and sucked in a huge breath when she placed a delicate hand on his chest, “Jimmy.”

“You look just like my grandson, Jimmy. So handsome and strong.” She sighed and patted his chest again.

If Dean wasn’t panicking as much as Castiel was at that moment, he would have probably been on the floor laughing his ass off.

Really, all Castiel had to do was walk towards Dean and away from the woman, but it seemed out of his level of current comprehension. Scrambling for a solution, he picked up the nearest thing to him which happened to be a small plastic pot containing everything one would need to grow a patch of Perennials. He flipped over the pot and scanned through the small print there until something caught his eye.

“Hey, babe, can you come explain what this means by… gardening zones?” The endearment slid off his tongue easily, shocking both Castiel and himself. It was apparently a big enough surprise to spur Castiel into moving though, regardless of the stunned expression on his face.

_Congratulations Dean. You’re a fucking idiot._

Setting his mental bludgeoning aside for later, he played up the confused boyfriend act and stared at Castiel with the best confused puppy eyes he could. When he was in reach, Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and pulled him close.

Of course, Castiel immediately tried to back away again, but stopped at the subtle shake of Dean’s head.

“Relax, I’ve got you.” He whispered lowly. This wasn’t the situation he wanted to be saying that very phrase in, but Dean would make do with what he had at the moment.

Castiel was still tense against his side, but he seemed to understand and took the pot from Dean. Absently, Dean ran his thumb in soothing circles on Castiel’s bicep while he explained zones and plant hardiness, nodding along with everything he was saying.

Sam returned shortly after that, studiously not saying anything about the pair being so close, and helped them load up the cart.

They sent Sam to pay for everything and escaped back outside.

When they reached the Impala, Castiel braced himself on the passenger doors and took in deep, shuddering breaths. Dean stood beside him, debating on whether or not to place his hand on Castiel’s shoulder again, or just give him space.

He had decided on the latter and started to move away when a hand caught his wrist.

“Thank you.” The words were small and quiet, but sincere.

Dean nodded and gave him a quick grin.

“You did good. I’m proud.” It was the truth; he was very proud. A lesser vampire would have lost it right then and there, tore the woman’s throat out and buried themselves in the remains.

Castiel didn’t.

The hand on his wrist tightened for a second, another silent thank you conveyed across the two of them, before it released him.

Castiel climbed into the Impala and rested his head against the window while the brothers loaded the car, and Dean smiled to himself as he thought over the whole interaction between them.

_Progress._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	17. Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

The sun was still shining high and bright in the sky when Castiel woke. A gentle thrum of excitement simmered under his skin as he went through his morning routine as quickly and quietly as possible.

After finishing up his breakfast, he jogged back upstairs, shedding his sleep clothes in favor of ones better suited for landscape work.

Plans of where and how to begin floated in his mind as he slid on a pair of faded jeans with no knees and pulled a thin grey t-shirt over his head.

His general dislike of footwear led to him to pad barefoot down to the Winchester’s garage. The bare glass table in the foyer caught his eye when he passed it and a tiny idea flickered in the back of his mind. It would have to wait until later, though.

The Winchester’s garage was spacious, big enough for three cars if he had to guess, with Sam’s Dodge on the far left and the Impala resting in the middle. He made a beeline for the corner behind the Charger and rifled through the industrial cabinets for all his supplies. The belt that held all his tools made his pants ride a little lower than normal, but he paid no mind. 

It wasn’t like anyone was going to see him anyway

Even with the midafternoon sun beating down on his back, Castiel decided that there was something therapeutic about revitalizing the dead and decrepit. The smell of fresh earth under him and salt water breeze blowing in from the ocean twirled together as he dug deeper into the soft soil, fingers grasping for all the little roots and tubers holding up each weed. 

One after another, he patiently pushed past the tiny rocks and sediment, searching for the brown ends of each long root, building up a hearty layer of dirt under his nails. Growing piles of weeds trailed behind him as he worked throughout the day and into the afternoon.

It occurred to him as he was finishing deweeding the west beds, that, even though the soil was good, any plants or flowers that he wanted to grow would need an extra kick to get started. 

Castiel considered his options carefully.

He generally didn’t like using chemically formed fertilizers, their impact on plants was not always in their favor, especially with the pesticides that ran rampant on the market.

What he really would like, he wasn’t sure he had the means to get.

A mulch pile would be all around beneficial, giving him something to help his plant growth without the extra mess to deal with along the lines of chemicals. It also gave the three of them an extra place to put food scraps instead of piling them into the trashcan at the end of the counter.

Unfortunately, both would cost money.

Now that he was out of a job and not really in much of a position to obtain a new one, Castiel was financially stunted. 

What made it even more unfortunate was the fact that he didn’t even know of a job he could get in his newfound state. He deliberated further on the matter before finally settling on a solution.

He’d ask Dean.

If someone had told him that he would go to the man with questions about potential employment, or anything for that matter, a week or two before, he would have thought them insane.

The incident at the superstore had changed something, though. A spark of trust had been built the moment he’d decided to stand beside Dean and let him help him through his momentary panic. 

He still wasn’t  _ entirely  _ comfortable around him, but he wasn’t constantly looking for excuses to get away now. 

Rising from where he’d been kneeling, he trekked back towards the mansion.

It was still fairly early, so he wasn’t sure if Dean was even awake yet.

Upon entering the house, something seemed to pull him towards the library. It didn’t dawn on him until he was halfway there that he was following the mouthwatering scent of leather and gunpowder. 

He was  _ scenting  _ Dean.

_ That’s… not creepy, at all. _

The closer he neared the more fully he could dissect each element. It shocked him to realize how familiar he’d become with each of them. 

Before he’d become a vampire, none of them had really stood out to him. Sure, he’d catch a whiff of leather passing by one of the old fashion shoe shops in Newport, but that had never caught his attention like the richness he could detect now. 

Lemongrass and gunpowder were two things he’d had very little experience with to start.

Now though, he found himself drawn to all three, literally.

The afternoon sun was shining at full tilt through the enormous window when he entered the library. 

Dean stood before it, close to the edge of the window seat, looking out over the back half of his estate. Absently, Castiel wondered how long he’d been standing there and if he’d been able to see him working.

When he half-turned to face him, Castiel was, for the second time, hit with magnitude of Dean Winchester in the glow of the afternoon sun. 

The first time he’d been granted the sight, he’d been out of his mind due to blinding hunger, only noticing a scant few things. 

This time, that wasn’t the case.

Without a clouded mind, Castiel could truly appreciate the way the luminance played on the planes of Dean’s face. 

With jewel green eyes, plush pouty lips, and skin flawless enough to make Michelangelo’s statues weep, all dusted with a charming layer of freckles, Dean was easily one of, if not the most, beautiful people he’d ever seen. 

The hints of tattoo that peeked out of the collar and sleeve of his white t-shirt combined with the pair of low slung, flannel pajama pants made Castiel’s mouth go inexplicably dry. 

It also made him take note of his own appearance, which, upon inspection, was borderline horrid. 

Dirt covered his pants and clung to the exposed skin through the various holes in his jeans, sweat stained the thin fabric of his shirt on both his chest and back, and a small part of him was aware that the filth was also smeared across his face and in his hair.

His feet were a sight far worse.

Belatedly, he hoped he didn’t track copious amounts of dirt into the house.

When he looked back at Dean, he found himself pinned by the weight of his stare.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, despite his sudden case of cotton mouth.

Dean studied him for a moment longer before replying.

“No, no, I just don’t think I’ve ever seen dirt look that good before.”

The blatant compliment caused his cheeks to flame. 

Suddenly it was like when they first talked again, with him tripping over his words and stuttering like an idiot. 

“O-Oh, um, thank you?” It came out more as a question, but it seemed to be sufficient.

Dean grinned at him and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“What can I do for you? Or did you just decide to wander dirt covered through the library on a whim?”

Castiel rubbed at the back of his neck, grimacing at the flakes of dirt that fluttered off when he did.

“I have a rather peculiar situation.”

Dean walked over to the nearest chair and sat on the arm. 

“I’m all ears.”

He mirrored Dean, carefully perching on the chair across from him before continuing on, “It’s come to my attention that there are some more things I’ll need for the garden. While I greatly appreciate you and Sam paying for my previous expenses, I feel it would be better if I paid for my own things from now on. The problem is, I am out of a job now and have no money.”

Dean held up a hand and he paused.

“We can get you whatever you need. I’ll go grab my card here in a minute and you can use it.”

He sighed and scrubbed a dirty hand over his face, grimacing again at the flakes that fell from his fingers. 

“You misunderstand me, Dean. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure I feel comfortable with you paying for everything. I think it would be best if I found a job.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised at that.

“Again, I encounter a problem with that. What jobs can…  _ our kind _ even apply for?” Castiel struggled for the correct wording for a moment.

It didn’t seem to bother Dean, though.

“Well, truthfully, we can do anything we want.”

A small grin formed as a thought flickered in his head.

“In that case, I suppose I’ll just go find the nearest Red Cross blood drive. I’m sure they won’t notice me pilfering bags of blood.”

To his surprise, Dean began to laugh. Sure, he had meant it as a joke, but he didn’t think it was  _ that  _ funny. 

He didn’t complain, though. 

Castiel had never been treated to this musical sound before, so he was going to enjoy it while he could. 

Even after he’d mostly composed himself, a wide smile was still on Dean’s face.

“Where do you think we get our blood?” He asked in between light chuckles. 

It had never really occurred to him to ask or even really think of where the supply came. 

_ “Oh.” _

Dean laughed again, presumably at his naivety. 

“You’d be surprised how many of us have jobs in the higher up corps. It makes life easier for all of us.”

He was still new to the inner workings of vampirism, but that made sense. Having people on the inside, so to speak, would mean that they were less exposed and in better control of the resources they needed.

“Look,” Dean interrupted his thought process, “I get that you’re not comfortable with using our money, but, honestly, money is the least of our worries, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to try to join the workforce again, yet.”

“Being Governor pays that well?”

Dean’s cheeks pinkened slightly, “Uh, not exactly…”

His silence seemed to be enough to spur Dean on.

“You know how I said that there are more of us in the larger corporations than you think? That didn’t necessarily apply to just “domestic” amenities. Many of us invest and own stocks in nearly everything known to man. Since we have people working Wall Street and in shareholder companies, we don’t have to change identities and start over every thirty years. A lot of us don’t dabble in human run capital because it gets to be a hassle.”

“Hassle how?” Castiel was soaking up the information like a sponge, fascinated by the slight peek into the vampiric world he was getting.

“You can change names as many times as you’d like, but you can’t necessarily change your face. After a while people do notice and things get dicey. So, you stick with your own kind so there doesn’t have to be any problems. If you’re not careful then it becomes a huge deal like the Elvis conspiracy theories.”

He huffed out a laugh 

“Conspiracy theories on how a dead man is still alive, you mean?”

Dean gave him a rueful grin. “Careful, he might get a little offended if he hears you say that.”

“Offended he’s- wait.  _ Are you trying to tell me that Elvis is alive?”  _

“Rocktail Bay is beautiful year-round...”

Castiel simply stared at him, a quiet,“Oh my God” slipping from him.

“Don’t seem so shocked, man. More people are alive, in their own way I guess, than what you’d think.”

He shook his head. 

“No, it’s just… I love Elvis, actually.”

Dean gave him a strange look for a fraction of a second before his face morphed back into the easy and charming expression it had been before.

“Awesome.”

He narrowed his eyes at the quick turn around but let it be.

“While my taste in music is a  _ fascinating  _ topic, I fail to see how any of this pertains to the original question.”

Dean sighed and stood, running a hand through his hair. 

“Sam and I are in the stock market game. Our whole deal works like this: he’s the brains and I’m the brand name. Sam works all the numbers and does all the things that make my brain hurt, but my name goes on everything.”

“He doesn’t invest in stocks under his own name? Why?” He questioned. 

Dean did a double take. 

“Sam didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“It’s… complicated. Look, I know you’re curious and all, but let me talk to him about it first. It’s too sensitive of a subject to just bring up without him knowing beforehand.” 

_ ‘People like me.’ _

He remembered Sam’s words from before and wondered if the instances had a connection. Regardless, he agreed. If it was Sam’s personal business then so be it.

Castiel couldn’t resist poking fun, though.

“Let it be known, the Winchester brothers are nothing short of otherworldly cryptic.” He jeered.

Dean barked out a laugh. 

“Winchester specialty.” 

“So, essentially what you’re telling me is, you two are not hurting for money and my convictions about using any of it are unneeded.” He said.

Dean shrugged and nodded, “Yeah, that’s about it.”

He knew that disappointment was probably clearly showing on his face by the way Dean quickly tried to amend things.

“I’m not saying you can’t ever get a job, okay? But I do think it would be better if we waited until we got you a little more adjusted to everything.”

That relieved him a little.

“I understand.”

“Depending on how quick you adjust, we’ll have you back out there in no time. You don’t even have to go back to teaching. You can go and do whatever you want.” If there was any sadness in his voice, Castiel didn’t catch it.

“I’m gonna be a hunter, then.” He deadpanned.

That pulled another chuckle from Dean.

“Castiel Novak, the hunter, right.” 

They both pondered over the thought of him dressed in camouflage and god awful orange for a minute before something popped up in his head.

“You know what would make sense?” He asked. “Vampire dentists.”

“Dentists?”

“Yes. Because what’s the one thing that vampires fear the most?” 

He paused for effect. 

“Tooth decay.”

There was a beat of silence where Dean just stared blankly at him before dissolving into a fit of what Castiel would dare to call giggles.

“Did you just… make a… vampire joke?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do know what a vampire’s favorite fruit is.”

“Oh no.”

“ _ Neck _ -tarines.”

“Dammit, Cas.” Dean broke down even further, doubling over with laughter. He let the nickname slide this time in favor of chuckling along with him.

Dean’s laugh was definitely something he’d want to hear more of.

Sam stumbled through the archway behind them, blearily rubbing at his eyes. Given that he had just woke up, he was still in his sleep wear like Dean.

The dark bands of ink spanning his left arm and disappearing under the sleeve of his shirt looked identical to the ones that adorned Dean’s arm. It didn’t occur to him until then that, up until that point, Sam had always worn long-sleeves.

_ Interesting. _

Sam blinked at the pair a few times.

“What the hell is so funny?”

“Neck-tarines.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sincere apologies for the delay, writer's block will forever be the bane of our existence.  
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> Tags:   
> mentions of past minor character death  
> mentions of past alcohol abuse  
> self-loathing
> 
>  
> 
> ~K & J

June melted into July faster than what he anticipated as he toiled away in the Winchester’s garden. The beds had been fully cleared of weeds and his wire-cage mulch pile was starting to decompose nicely by the turn of the month.

He was content enough that he didn’t even notice the date until it was nearly upon him.

July 7th.

For three days every year, he isolated himself, most times drinking himself into a stupor so he didn’t have to acknowledge how bad his heart hurt.

That was the plan come July 6th, but it didn’t happen that way.

The strongest thing the Winchester brothers kept in stock was the occasional case of beer, but even those went mostly untouched. Unfortunately for him, the fridge and cabinets were void of anything remotely alcoholic.

After about ten minutes of searching, Dean appeared with a mildly perplexed and very amused expression painted on his face. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat there and watched Castiel go through the same cabinets, drawers, and shelves four times.

“You have no alcohol.” He stated flatly.

Dean’s amusement disappeared.

For a few excruciatingly long moments, pain was the only emotion that outweighed the sadness.

“No. It’s, uh, a personal preference.” When he finally spoke, his voice and smile were tight. The expression Castiel had come to commonly associate with Dean was long gone, replaced by thinned lips and sad, hardened eyes.

Castiel was slightly taken aback by Dean’s sudden coldness, but didn’t take offence to it. It was more than obvious that there was a painful story behind it, and, like he had with Sam, he respected the boundary set before him.

It could wait, no matter how much Hell the next three days put him through.

"Of course. I apologize, it was rude of me to assume that you had any."

Dean waved off his apology, like always.

"No need to be sorry. Besides it would take a whole lot more than a case of beer or a bottle of Jack to get you hammered now days. You get upgraded tolerance to nearly everything since you're a vamp now."

It hadn’t occurred to him that vampires would have a higher tolerance, but, again, it made sense. Something told him that it would take near fatal levels of a substance to actually effect them.

"I see…” He trailed off before giving Dean a small smile, “If you'll excuse me, I think I'm going up to my room for the night.”

Castiel didn’t wait for an answer, instead numbly exiting before Dean had the chance to convince him otherwise.

~~~

The night before the 7th hurt, but it was nothing compared to the true night of. Twenty years later and it still felt like he was trying to run a marathon and inhale razor blades at the same time.

Without the aid of alcohol, he was left defenseless and exposed to the raw agony.

It hurt the same as it always had, so he stuck with the same ritual, sans alcohol. He locked himself away in his bedroom and made no plans to re-emerge.

He hadn’t been this upset since his twentieth birthday, before he’d discovered the blessed numbness that whiskey could bring. Castiel had managed to get obliterated the night of his twenty-first birthday and the annual ritual had stayed true ever since.

His curtains were pulled back, letting the pale moonlight stream into the room. It served as the only source of light and he was more than okay with it.

It was always easier to cry in the dark, anyway.

He was sitting cross legged on his bed, his back against the headboard, with two of his most prized possessions.

The ebony box sat at the end of the bed, taunting him with its intricacies and secrets, and his mother’s favorite blanket was draped over his lap. The weight of the heavy but soft multicolored threads provided a small comfort, but his fingers still trembled as he ran them across the tasseled edges.

Logically, he knew he should write the brothers a note, letting them know that he would be unavailable for a few days, but he didn’t write one. A tiny fracture of himself hoped that one of them would find him and put him out of his misery, or at the very least distract him from it.

Castiel didn’t let his hopes climb too high, though.

Year after year he’d braved these days alone. He would do it again, then go about living his life like he always did.

Simple.

With shaky hands, he pulled the box into his lap, brushing away the fine layer of dust it had accumulated over time. The real silver adornments bit at his skin when he ran light fingers over them.

The slight flash burn it brought, oddly, grounded him

Rolling his fingers over the engraved dials, he moved each one to it’s correct number.

_1-9-9-0._

The year his beautiful baby sister was born.

With a quiet snick, the lock opened and he pulled it up and away from the box, letting it fall on the bed silently.

Carefully, he pushed the hinged lid up, slowly revealing the contents to the dim light.

Nestled inside were a handful of items, nothing but a mere handful of junk to the outsider.

A faded white bear with a missing button eye, a baseball glove with frayed stitching, a rusted butterfly knife with nearly unreadable letters engraved onto the blade, and a half bottle of women’s perfume were all arranged carefully inside.

Tears brimmed in his eyes and threatened to spill over, and, for the first time in nearly eight years, he sat back and truly acknowledged that the remnants of an entire family, _his_ entire family, were all confined to a box in his lap.

Unfolding himself from where he’d been sitting, Castiel stood and carefully pulled each item from the box.

He took Gabriel’s baseball glove first, pushing one of the laces back through its respective hole before carrying it over to the desk.

After laying it next to the alarm clock, he returned and chose another item.

The knife found its way under his pillow. It was practically useless after being closed for so long and from all the rust it had accumulated over the years, but it served its purpose just fine.

Castiel kept the perfume and bear close by, climbing back into bed and drawing them near. He draped the thick blanket over his shoulders and grabbed the small glass bottle.

Vanilla and lilac rained down from above, settling over him and clinging to the fabric of the blanket.

The only thing that was left was the tiny bear, which he held tight against his chest.

It was almost… poetic.

Poetic in the sense that his family was arranged around him, like they were watching over him.

One might have found comfort in that thought, but Castiel didn’t.

He didn’t want material things, he wanted an _actual_ family.

He didn’t want a silly bear to hold close to him, he wanted his baby sister, living and breathing beside him.

His father’s knife was great to have and all, but he’d never be taught all the little tricks his father knew regarding it.

A baseball glove was useless without a brother to put it through the ringer.

Perfume was just another smell when it wasn’t worn by the woman who’d made it so special.

Castiel didn’t even notice that he’d finally dissolved into tears until he watched one drip from his face. It landed on the remaining button eye attached to the bear, making it glisten in the velvet darkness.

He should be stronger than this.

What kind of man sat in the dark and cried while holding a child’s toy?

_A pathetic and weak one._

Castiel didn’t want to think of himself as either of those things. He’d fought all his life to get as far as he did, endured the hardships and the loneliness, but, when boiled down, the truth still held strong.

Twenty years had passed and he was still nothing more than a scared child.

Being in the same house as the Winchester brothers drove the thought home a little further. They must really see him as a child compared to their timelessness. A child so easily faulted by human emotions.

The more he thought about how infinitesimal he was to them, the harder he seemed to shake and the tighter the ball in his chest seemed to wind.

He ducked his head low and attempted to further curl in on himself in hopes that it would ease the pain in his chest.

For the thousandth time in his life, Castiel asked himself why.

Why had fate been so goddamn cruel?

Why couldn't he have people that cared?

What could he have possibly done in a past life to deserve this?

There was a quiet knock on his door, interrupting his mental berations, making him lift his head and rub at his eyes.

“Castiel?” Dean’s voice traveled through the closed door, “Everything alright?”

He waited to see if his silence would make Dean leave, but he could still feel the man’s presence on the other side of the wall.

“No.” He answered hoarsely. There was no sense in denying it, the whole house probably stunk from his despair and for a fleeting second, he felt guilty about it.

“You’re not hurt or anything, are you? Physically, at least?”

_Why does he sound like he actually cares? Why would he?_

“No.”

There was a sigh and a slight pause before Dean spoke again.

“Look, man, I know you don’t want to talk right now, and that’s completely fine. Just… take care of yourself, okay? You don’t have to do it now, but, at some point, you need to eat something. A hot shower might help, too.”

There was another pause.

“Sam and I are downstairs in the library if you wanna talk or if you need anything. Okay?”

More tears were sliding down his face by then. It was so easy to believe that the brothers actually gave a damn about him, and it would be so easy to run to one or both and spill all his problems.

He wouldn’t though.

They didn’t actually care, no matter how sincere Dean sounded.

Castiel remained silent and for a moment, he thought Dean might have left, but there was still a lingering presence for a few more seconds.

“Whenever you’re up to it, your phone has beeped a couple of times. You might wanna check it sometime.”

“Thank you, Dean.” He answered.

This time he could physically feel Dean walk away from the door, leaving him cold, almost as if the man had taken all the warmth with him.

Shivering lightly, he pulled the blanket around him a little tighter and curled into a ball on his side.

Over the course of the night and into the next day, he simply just laid there, staring at the door. Occasionally, he would think back to a memory that once made him happy when he was younger.

The Christmas before his family died had been amazing. It wasn’t because of the gifts that he and his siblings had received, even if that had been a plus.

It was the literal sense of family.

Being surrounded by people he loved and, in turn, loved him, feeling safe and comforted by their presence, was something that, even at a young age, Castiel had appreciated.

He could remember each of their smiling faces on Christmas night, all gathered around the table heaped with delicious food. His father had blessed the food and they’d dug in, stuffing themselves until they couldn’t move.

Gabriel had made faces at Anna every so often, causing her to giggle hysterically around mouthfuls of gravy soaked mashed potatoes, and Castiel had listened to the peals of laughter with a smile of his own.

Later on that night, they’d all gathered around the fireplace and played with their toys, carols playing softly in the background.

Everything had been so peaceful then.

~~~

By the morning of July 10th, Castiel had managed to leave his room twice, both times at a sporadic hour when no one else was awake. He made his trips quick, only going to the kitchen for a quick meal, then promptly returning to his bedroom.

Between his insistent hunger and election to man up and leave while the brothers were up and about, he found himself pouring a glass of blood in the kitchen about mid-afternoon.

Castiel had just disposed of his bag when an odd noise caught his attention.

About a week ago, he’d plugged his cell phone into the far wall of the kitchen then seemingly forgot about it.

Now, it skittered across the counter, making an awful racket against the dark granite. He set his glass aside and made a grab for the device before it bounced off the edge.

In the process of catching it he hit answer on the call.

Immediately, he could hear voices, loud ones, pouring through the speaker. Not wanting to be rude, he tentatively put the phone against his ear.

“Hello?”

_“Cassie! Fucking finally!”_

Castiel pulled the phone away from his ear, trying to save his poor eardrum, making a quick glance at the number in the process.

“Balthazar?”

_“The one and only. You’re a hard man to get in touch with these days, mate.”_ Balthazar’s voice traveled smoothly through the phone, much quieter this time.

“Um, sorry about that. I’ve been… busy…”

Somewhere, in another part of the house, he could hear arguing.

_“Right, right. You’re a very busy man.”_

“It certainly seems that way. Is there a reason why you’re calling me?” Castiel paced back over to where he’d set his glass and took a small sip of the now lukewarm liquid. The arguing was growing a little louder by then,

_“Don’t be coy, Cassie. You know exactly why I’m calling. If Han would ever come out of the bedroom, she wants to wish you well, too.”_

He put his glass back down.

“Did you say… bedroom?”

_“No, no, I meant, uh, the bathroom, the loo. Blasted woman takes forever and a day to go about her business. Say, you sound surprisingly sober given the time of the year.”_ Balth was quick to amend his slip up and instantly was changing the subject.

“I didn’t have much of a choice this year.”

A few seconds later, Sam came storming into the kitchen with Dean hot on his heels. Sam muttered something over his shoulder that Castiel didn’t quite catch.

_“Well, that’s a damn shame. You know, you should cut that little vacation of yours short and come have a drink with Han and I sometime, celebrate another year and all.”_

“Uh-”

Castiel stopped short when Dean exploded a few feet away from him.

“For the last time, you are not going anywhere! _End of story._ ” He shouted. Dean looked like he was going to continue yelling, but he spotted Castiel standing on the other side of the counter, staring wide-eyed in shock at them and paused.

It was dead silent for a few seconds before Balthazar’s now frantic voice was calling out through the phone again.

_“Castiel? Who was that? Is everything alright?”_ Hannah’s voice in the background was becoming clearer as well.

“I have to go. I’ll call you sometime or something.” He fumbled with the phone and stabbed at the end call button.

_“Cas-”_

Silence fell over the kitchen again and he looked up to see two pairs of curious eyes boring down on him.

“Who was that?” Dean asked him.

“Friends of mine.”

“Why were they calling you?” Sam continued.

Castiel picked at the hem of his shirt and shifted in his place before answering in a tiny voice.

“Because… it’s m-my birthday….” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	19. Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're baaaack! An explanation for why this has taken so long is in the end notes. For now, enjoy an extra long chapter!
> 
> ~K & J

“Because… it’s m-my birthday….”

The previous argument with his pain in the ass little brother dropped from his mind instantly, everything laser focusing on the man in front of him who was studiously looking at the floor and picking a hole in his shirt.

Dean’s gaze immediately swung to Sam, who was already shaking his head minutely.

_ I didn’t know either!  _ His brother’s hazel eyes said.

“Well, in that case, happy birthday, man.” Sam amended quickly

After getting a sharp kick to the shin, he echoed the statement through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, uh, happy birthday.”

He nodded his head in Castiel’s direction quickly and he mouthed, “Distract him!” to Sam.

His brother, always quick on his feet, was rounding on the man faster than Dean could fully shape the words with his lips.

“How come you didn’t say anything before?”

_ Think, moron, think! _

Castiel shrugged in response before further elaborating, continuing to stare at the linoleum.

“Truthfully, I don’t celebrate it, I just more or less treat myself to a nice bottle of whiskey or two at home. This year, due to unforeseen circumstances, I thought I’d just sit somewhere quietly and let it pass.”

The whiskey statement caught both of their attention and made Dean choke a little, but he forced it back, schooling his expression. He caught the look Sam shot him but ignored it.

_ Now is not the time. _

“Why? Dean and I would be more than happy to help you  _ actually  _ celebrate it.” Sam asked him, gently putting a bit more emphasis on the  _ Dean  _ part. 

“I appreciate it, but, really, it isn’t necessary Sam. My surviving another year doesn’t warrant excessive celebration.” Castiel was already trying to retreat, backing away from the two and towards the entryway to the kitchen.

“Bullshit.” The word, sharp as a knife, flew from Dean’s mouth before he could even think of stopping it. Castiel’s head snapped up and blue eyes met his own.

“Before all this, where’d you go for fun?” He asked a little softer this time.

Castiel’s cheeks darkened again, garnering another shrug. 

“I didn’t really have time for anything  _ fun.  _ I would, on occasion, venture down to the garden district and spend time there relaxing.”

_ Bingo.  _

Dean tapped his knuckles on the counter and pursed his lips.

“Okay… tell you what, meet Sam and I in the foyer in say… an hour and a half?”

“May I ask why?”

“We’re going to celebrate your birthday.”

“Dean, I-”Castiel’s protest was cut short in an instant

“It wasn’t a question. Go get washed up and put on some street clothes.” Dean's tone rang out with a certain finality that had Castiel nodding and pacing out of the kitchen. 

Neither brother moved until they heard the shower turn on upstairs. 

“Mind telling me what we’re doing?”

“Improvising, Sammy.”

Sam scoffed and gave him a knowing look.

“So, basically you’re just pulling something out of your ass and hoping it works?”

There was a retort sitting on the end of his tongue but he chose to bite it back. Sam was right after all.

“You know… I’m going to give you that one.”

 

~~

“Jesus Sammy, were you raised in a barn? Come here.”

Dean ignored the fact that Sam had to bend a little for him to reach his shirt collar, as well as the perturbed look he received while he smoothed the edges of the charcoal fabric into their rightful places.

“If you want to get technical about it, both of us were at one point in our lives, Dean.”

“Smartass.”

He was adjusting his own maroon shirt in the foyer mirror when he caught sight of movement at the top of the staircase. He spun on his heel, ready to fire off something witty, but his breath caught in his throat instead, cutting off whatever he was going to utter.

_ Son of a bitch.  _

Castiel’s hair was a semi-damp mess, dark locks still wildly tousled from the toweling they’d received. The black t-shirt he’d donned was just a hair tighter than it probably should have been but paired with faded blue jeans that were snug in all the right places, Dean sure as hell wasn’t complaining. 

It wasn’t until Castiel’s nose twitched curiously that his mind finally registered the hauntingly familiar scent beginning to permeate the air. 

One could have lit a match off of Dean’s cheeks.

Sam was the only other person in the room that could identify the sharp tang and his smirk confirmed that he’d caught on to Dean’s…  _ growing  _ predicament. 

Awkwardly, he gestured towards the door to the garage and let them lead the way. The decision probably hadn’t been the smartest though, because he was immediately treated to the mouthwatering view of muscled shoulders and denim clad ass. 

Taking deep breaths wasn’t helping his case either.

In a way it really didn’t surprise him how he was reacting. The surprising part was that it hadn’t happened sooner.

They all piled into the Impala, and, before he could even say anything, Sam was trying his best to roll the window on his side down to get more air flow going. 

Once they were out on the open road, the smell gradually began to dissipate, putting them all a little more at ease.

“So, am I allowed to know where we’re going?” Castiel’s voice barely carried over the roar of the wind whipping through the Impala, but both brothers heard it anyway.

Dean shook his head and met his gaze in the rearview mirror.

“Nope. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.” What possessed him to throw a wink in at the end, he’d never know, but the way Castiel’s cheeks pinkened slightly made it worth it.

Dean chose to take the more scenic route into Newport, showcasing some of Rhode Island’s natural beauty along their way. Said route had them coming in on the other side of town instead of the normal way but no one seemed to mind.

The garden district was expectedly empty given their timing and that suited all three of them just fine. A myriad of perfumes enveloped them as soon as they exited the Impala, serving as a further amplification of Castiel’s scent. Dean willed himself to ignore the sweetness, vowing to not screw this up with another awkward erection. 

Instead, he focused on the strategically placed botanics ahead of him.

Dean didn’t know squat about domesticated plants like these, only having knowledge about the wild growing stuff such as what not to eat and what would help alleviate pain and swelling. He was fairly sure that most of that knowledge was probably outdated by that point, but it was the thought that counted he supposed.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the obvious hard work that went into keeping the district near immaculate.

With high arching pavilions covered in blooming green vines, smooth flat-stone paths, and lush flower growth crammed in every available space, Newport’s garden district felt like a living, breathing entity. 

Ahead, in the center of the grounds, stood a massive red maple tree with branches extending out incredibly far, some nearly reaching the outer perimeter. Scarlet leaves littered the paths and few sparse patches of soil that weren’t covered in other plant life.

He’d been so distracted last time he’d been there that he’d only noticed little details, a handful of smells and a choice few plants, but now he was hit with how stunning the place really was.

Beside him, Sam seemed to be in a similar amount of awe. His hazel eyes took every detail as quickly as possible, committing each to memory no doubt. 

Castiel seemed to be the most serene of all of them, quietly taking in the surroundings with a small pleased smile. It was undoubtedly the happiest Dean had seen him in a few days.

“I know it’s not really special or anything, but we had to improvise on the spot.” Dean told him softly.

The look Castiel gave him was of pure gratitude and it made Dean’s heart do a funny kick in his chest.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

A sort of contentment radiated off of his mate, and while the sadness was not completely gone, it had been lightened a fraction.

An idea seemed to strike Castiel out of the blue, because he was turning on his heel in an instant.

“What time is it?”

Sam checked his watch faster than he was able to.

“A quarter after eight. Why?”

Castiel made a vague motion with his hand, nodded to himself, then gestured for them to follow him.

“Hurry and follow me. I want to show you something.”

The trio weaved their way to the other end of the district, closer to the ocean, dodging overgrown bushels on the path and low hanging branches.

Dean snickered when Sam ran face first into one, garnering a mouthful of red leaves when they rounded a corner. 

It didn’t help that he ran into the branch directly after either. 

Castiel finally slowed to a stop in front of a large patch of green with little white twisted florets adorning it. He reached forward and brought one a bit closer, running a light finger over the delicate bud, then let it fall back into place again.

Dean and Sam exchanged a confused look but their questioning was cut short when Castiel held up a finger, asking them to wait.

“Just watch.”

Another solid minute or so passed before a tiny movement caught his eye. Stepping closer, he watched as the floret untwisted itself slowly, forming a star shape. From there it continued unfolding itself, little by little, then began blossoming in an outward spiral. It finally stopped moving when it was at full blossom, the silky white petals reaching and stretching out to their full capacity and letting the prevailing moonlight bounce across them.

Amazingly, the whole process took less than a minute.

“Moonflowers. Beautiful, aren’t they? I have only gotten to watch the whole blooming twice ever since I moved here.” Castiel ran fingers over the now open bloom again, then moved to a different bushel.

“Over here are our Ladies, Princesses, and Queens of the Nights, then over by the pond are Evening Primroses and Night Blooming Jasmine vines.” He pointed out each from the drooping pink-orange, pale yellow, and white royalties, to the bright canary colored shoots, all the way to the explosive growth of green vines with hundreds of trumpet shaped flowers sprouting from them.

“These are my favorite night bloomers, though.”

He rounded another corner and pointed to another sea of white, red, maroon, and purple spear shaped flowers.

Both brothers did a double take on them, though.

“Gladiolus.” They said together.

“Specifically the Nights and Arabians, yes. You know of them?”

Castiel’s tone was far from condescending and full of pure curiosity.

“Uh, ye-yeah, we do.” Sam seemed to trip over his words for a second but regained his footing quickly, “In our… culture, so to speak, a red Gladiolus is worn when one’s significant other passes away. It’s a symbol of grievance for us and is usually associated with bad memories.”

_ Understatement. _

A brief flash of his father’s outrage after their mother’s death flickered in his mind. The stomped and crushed Gladiolus on the foyer floor had looked like a blood streak on the pristine white.

“Oh, well that’s certainly a unique custom. Something beautiful to represent something tragic…” Castiel had been looking at him when he said that, and some unnamed emotion had flashed in his blue eyes before he promptly looked away.

Silence fell over the trio and eventually they split off on their own paths, occasionally crossing with one another and talking about the beauty in front of them.

The Winchester brothers were content to stay as long as Castiel wished, so when he’d asked to stay until sunrise, they’d been more than agreeable.

“I’ve never gotten to see them reopen again before.  Work was always running me ragged with lesson plans and tests to grade all the time, and if I didn’t have to work I was so exhausted I wouldn’t get up in time to see them.” He’d explained.

Eventually, when they’d all explored every nook and cranny of the grounds, they piled themselves around the maple, talking about nothing in particular. Dean himself had rambled on for nearly an hour over his precious Baby until he finally realized how long he’d been droning on and stopped with a small blush.

“Your love for that piece of machinery is truly astounding, Dean. You have so many wonderful memories associated with it.”

Any other time he’d been irritated by someone referring to his girl as a ‘piece of machinery’ but he let it slide due to the sheer reverence in Castiel’s voice when he spoke of her.

Sam told him about how he was basically a lawyer, minus the degree, and knew of at least ten cases he could have won without some fancy piece of paper. 

Castiel listened raptly to both of them, soaking in every word, then countered with stories of his own about all the antics his classes used to get up to. 

Both brothers were wiping tears from their eyes as he told the story of how he’d found his eclectic friend, Balthazar, passed out drunk underneath his desk when Castiel had run in to retrieve an answer key for one of his Theology tests.

“I offered multiple times to help him up and take him home, or, at the very least, help him into the desk chair, but he insisted that the floor was better. He tried to punch me when I went to pull him up anyway, and ended up busting one of his knuckles open on the underside of my desk instead.”

Sam caught his breath long enough to ask, “How did he even get in there?”

Castiel shrugged.

“His answer was somewhere along the lines of,  _ ‘I’m bloody Houdini’ _ or something like that.” Castiel did his best to imitate the Brit’s accent, making Dean laugh even harder when he butchered it horribly.

When he’d finally calmed down, Dean took a moment to bask in the fact that this was the most he’d ever seen Castiel smile and the most he’d ever heard the man say at one time.

It both awed and saddened him.

When the sky began to lighten again and the sweet calls of mourning doves started up from the branches above them, Castiel was up and off again in search of Morning Glories. 

Sam ventured off to watch the others close again, leaving the two alone to themselves for a few short minutes.

Dean didn’t have the mental capacity to watch the flowers this time, instead he studied the look of awe that colored Castiel’s expression as the multicolored flowers stretched and reached for the morning sun.

Something compelled him to try and reach for his mate’s hand that was hanging loosely by his side. He wanted to know if it would slot perfectly together with his own like he dreamed. Dean wanted to do more than just that if he were to be completely honest.

He wanted to reach and take Castiel’s hand, pull him closer, and tuck him against his chest. He wanted to wash away the underlying tone of sadness that still clung to Castiel’s skin.

It wasn’t a question of biology anymore, though. Hormones and genetics no longer dominated his instincts, Dean genuinely wanted to comfort Castiel, even if it was just as a friend.

The sound of his brother’s footsteps had him catching himself and drawing his hand back again before he did something foolish. 

He was about to ask if they were all ready to head back when a loud rumble emanated from Castiel’s stomach.

Sam laughed and arched a brow, “Hungry?”

The hint of a blush that stained his cheeks was adorable when Castiel answered.

“Yes, but for… human food.”

That was both understandable and unsurprising, and Dean already had a good place in mind.

“Come on, let’s take you to get some breakfast then.”

~~

He could kill his little brother sometimes.

As soon as they’d entered the diner, Sam had sprawled out across an entire side of one of the booths, long gangly limbs covering the worn vinyl with no room to spare. So, in turn, he and Castiel had to share a side if they all wanted to sit at the same table.

They all quickly learned that the booths were not meant to accommodate men their size but decided to suffer through it anyway.

So with Castiel wedged in the corner and Dean giving him as much space as he could without falling out of the seat or sitting in the walkway, they settled in. Dean could still feel the copious amounts of heat that Castiel was putting off, even through the layers of clothing they both had on.

Their waitress for the morning swung by and picked up their drink orders.

“A water for me, please.” Sam told her with a polite smile.

“Water… got it,” She scribbled on her pad for a moment before turning to them, “and for you?”

“Black coffee.”

The waitress smiled wide and Sam did his best to stifle a laugh when they both answered simultaneously.

“Two black coffees for the cuties, then!”

Before either could protest the title, she was bounding off, leaving them both red faced and sputtering while Sam lost it across from them.

If he hadn’t been afraid that he would put a hole in the fine establishment’s upholstery, he would have kicked the hell out of his brother.

He cast an apologetic glance at Castiel but he was already looking down at his menu, blushing ever harder.

They each decided on what they wanted while they waited for their drinks, Sam still quietly snickering away.

The waitress came around again and set their drinks down with a knowing smile, then retrieved her pen and pad again.

Sam ordered some weird veggie omelette with a side of cubed potatoes and their hottest hot sauce. Castiel ordered french toast with strawberries, and Dean ordered the All Star which consisted of everything under the sun, including: eggs, bacon, sausage, hash brown casserole, and toast. 

He ignored the appalled look that Sam gave him and handed the waitress the menus.

They all chatted quietly for a while, Dean and Castiel taking alternating sips of their coffee, careful to try not to drink at the same time. 

Neither wanted to listen or watch Sam coo over them again.

Sam’s side of cubed potatoes came before any of the rest of their food, for whatever odd reason, but none complained. When Sam wasn’t paying explicit attention, Dean reached over and speared a few with his fork, lining them up behind his coffee cup like ammo.

With careful aim, he launched the first potato, landing it in Sam’s shirt pocket. He looked up from the small newspaper that had been tucked on the side of their window and gave Dean a shrewd look.

“Really?” He deadpanned.

Dean merely gave him a big smile and launched another. This one was caught by Sam though, and thrown right back at him.

Then, the war was on.

Potatoes flew back and forth between them, as well as whispered curses and the occasional amused snort from Castiel.

Eventually, one bounced off Dean’s chest and dropped down into his coffee, sinking to the bottom of the cup. In order to get revenge, he scooped up four potatoes, throwing three and shooting the last one straight into Sam’s water glass.

After that, they called a temporary truce.

Given that it was fairly early, the rest of their orders came back quickly, and soon the table was filled with food.

Castiel froze up and made an odd noise for a moment when he received his plate. On his french toast were blackberries instead of the strawberries he’d ordered.

“Do we need to send it back and get you some strawberries instead?” Sam asked him, aware of the screw up in the order.

“No, no, it’s fine.” Castiel’s voice was a little hoarser than before and his amused grin was gone from his face. 

Thankfully, the diner that they’d chosen had boasted fresh fruits and vegetables instead of any preservatives, so whole blackberries were the only thing that rolled around. They weren’t mashed and staining anything, so he watched as Castiel quietly picked them off one by one, scooping them up with his fork instead of spearing them or picking them up with his fingers, then depositing them into the bowl that had held the potatoes from earlier. After he was finished he threw a napkin over top of them so they were hidden, and began eating like nothing had happened.

“I take it you don’t like blackberries then?” Dean commented, slight amused by the action.

“No.”

Castiel’s tone wasn’t rude or snappish, just succinct and to the point, conveying that he didn’t want to further discuss the subject.

He nodded and went about cutting into his sausage, while Sam did the same with his omelette.

Dean huffed out a laugh when his brother began shaking nearly half the bottle of hot sauce onto the egg and vegetable concoction, effectively drowning the poor thing.

“You sure that’s gonna be enough hot sauce there,  _ bitch _ ?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“At least I can still taste it,  _ jerk _ .”

Dean shoveled a forkful of hash brown casserole into his mouth, ready to agree, but he caught a hint of something…

Like Sam, he could normally pick up pretty well on spice given it was such a dominant flavor, but this was... different.

_ “Salt!”  _

His brother shot him a confused look before realization kicked in.

“You lucky bastard.”

“Salt?” Castiel asked from beside him, obviously as equally confused as Sam had been.

Both of them temporarily ignored Castiel’s inquiry.

“Quit your whining, we lost our taste damn near at the same time and you’re still a baby.” 

Dean could actually see Sam physically bristle at that one.

“Yeah, an even seven hundred is the new eighteen, Dean.” His brother snarked.

A small sputter and cough emanated from his right, and Castiel was slamming his coffee cup down with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry, you just said you’re  _ how old  _ again?” He managed to get out between coughs.

The brothers snickered at their friend’s naivety, Sam trying to hide his behind a forkful of omelette while Dean tucked his face in his arm to try to stifle his own.

Once he was more in control of his amusement, he turned back to a still wide eyed Castiel.

“Yep. Dear Sammy is the big seven double zero.”

Castiel shook his head, “If he’s a baby, then I’m almost afraid to ask what that makes you.”

“Hey, hey, I’m aged to perfection.” He defended himself.

His mate raised a brow and deadpanned, “So… in other words, you’re an old man.”

Sam was laughing across from them again and shaking his head.

“Seven seventy-four isn’t  _ that  _ old!”

“Seven hundred and seventy-four isn’t that old… right…” It was Castiel’s turn to shake his head as he reached for another sip of his coffee.

“Just wait until he meets Bobby, he’ll really flip shit then.” Sam snorted.

_ “Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?”  _ Castiel quietly asked his poor, chipped coffee mug as if it had some sort of an answer.

Dean chuckled again and took a bite of his sausage, savoring the new flavors he could pick up now before returning to Castiel’s original question.

“So, we lose our taste after so many years, our bodies realize we don’t really need it after so long or some crap like that.”

“I’m following.”

_ Damn this stuff is good. _

He gathered up another forkful while his brother continued on for him.

“The exception is when someone finds their mate.”

Castiel nodded, “We discussed this not so long ago, but you never did elaborate.”

“Right, well, for some reason that we’ve never been able to figure out, our taste begins to come back to us once we’ve met our mate.”

He could feel a skirting glance pass over him but he continued finishing up his plate. Silence settled between the three for a few long moments before it was broken again.

“Oh. Got it… thank you for explaining.” Just like that Castiel was pulling away and cutting into his toast again.

They silently finished their meal and Dean rose to go and pay the check at the counter.

He was reading over their short list of homemade pies while waiting for the waitress to come back around and ring him up when he heard conversation start up between his brother and Castiel.

“Does this mean Dean’s met someone, Sam?”

Unknown to Castiel, Dean could still hear him and couldn’t  _ not  _ listen in if he tried. Instead he gave the waitress a polite smile and listened to his brother’s answer.

“Uh… yeah, yeah he has.”

“Is… is he happy?”

There was a long sigh and a pause while he was handed his change.

“He will be. Once they both pull their heads out of their asses, that is.”

The rest of their conversation was cut short when he came back with a fake easy smile.

“Let’s roll.”

When they all piled into the Impala there was a peculiar smell seeping through the car.

No matter how good he could physically play it off, Castiel’s scent would never lie.

_ He was jealous. _

Of himself.

“Now there’s some irony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> K here with an explanation to our extended absence. 
> 
> I lost someone very close to me back in the beginning of February and it's been crazy trying to get everything settled with my family and with myself. I was (and still somewhat am) very drained physically, emotionally, and mentally and no matter how bad I wanted to, I just couldn't work myself up to picking up writing again straight off. Thankfully, my ever amazing partner in crime was blessedly understanding and pulled more than her share of the weight and really helped me get back into the game. So, this is a definite thank you to you as well J. I love you and you're the absolute best to work with. <3
> 
> Hopefully, after this we can get back to our semi-regular posting and get this bad boy going again. We've got lots of exciting stuff coming up very soon and we're pumped to share these boys' journey with you!
> 
> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	20. Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!  
> Tags:   
> blood/gore
> 
> ~K & J

Seven.

That’s how many mutilated bodies that had been found in the Rhode Island - Massachusetts state crossings area. 

All of them were in various states of undress and had been nearly drained dry via wide gashes in their necks.

By Sam’s estimate, according to the gruesome pictures he’d received of each, they’d all been severely malnourished and dehydrated before their deaths. 

He flipped through the photos one last time, memorizing every detail from the places they’d been found to the pain frozen onto each face forever.

The police were concluding that it was just a wild animal on the loose and, in a way, they were right. This kind of animal ran on two feet instead of four though.

In all fairness Dean was supposed to be the one going to check everything out, but Sam had convinced him otherwise. His brother had better things to do than deal with some rogue vamp anyway.

Things like trying to woo his still unmated mate, though Dean would never refer to it as ‘wooing’ or anything even close to that. 

So after two arguments and a broken glass later, Sam was heading up towards Providence to see what he could piece together.

Originally, Sam had been hesitant to leave the two alone together but they’d made progress as of late. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brother. He just didn’t want to come back and find out the two had backtracked all the way to the beginning, with long silences and honestly impressive avoidances. 

With a sigh he closed the file and set it back on the desk then checked the time.

It’d take him about an hour and a half to get to Providence depending on traffic. He’d stay the night there then head up to North Smithville the following morning. 

If he left right then, he’d hit Providence by nightfall. 

He attempted to skirt out of the house unnoticed but was unsuccessful, of course. Dean caught him and lectured him for the fiftieth time about staying safe and keeping a low profile before hugging him and sending him on his way.

Tossing his overnight bag in the backseat, he started on his way.

~~

The nagging feeling started up just as he was passing the turnoff to Portsmouth. It had been eerily quiet the past few miles, not a car in sight and no one walking along the sides of the road like he’d seen hundreds of times before. 

He shook it off and kept driving.

Something flashed in the rearview mirror, catching his eye. A large black jeep came roaring up from nowhere, only slowing when they were right on the back end of the Charger. The windows were tinted so heavily that he couldn’t see who was inside and it put him on edge instantly. 

They followed close behind for a few more miles, staying consistent with their position.

He considered calling Dean but decided he would handle it on his own.

Unfortunately, his attention had been so focused on the vehicle behind him that he missed the second one come barreling in from his right.

The horrifying screech of bending and compressing metal was the only thing he could hear as the second, much larger truck slammed into the side of his car. His body pitched forward and to the side on impact then was abruptly thrown back again by the airbag in the steering wheel. Sam could feel his ribs cracking and breaking from the force, but really couldn’t mull over it as the car skidded off the edge of the road and rolled.

He had enough wits about him to cross his arms over his chest and duck his head as the driver’s side also caved in. Glass rained on him from every angle, most of it embedding itself in his arms and a few places on his cheek.

Finally, the car shuddered to a stop upside down in the grassy area off the road. He fumbled for the seat belt buckle and cursed when he found it was crushed, trapping the buckle inside. 

Gripping the belt with both hands, he tore the one across his chest in half, hissing at the obvious burn that the strap had left. Bracing himself, he did the same with one across his lap, then grunting when he hit the roof of the car. 

The driver’s side door protested loudly beside him for a minute before it was completely ripped off it’s hinges. He tried to scramble back but was met with sharp glass and metal.

A pair of hands reached in and grabbed his legs, dragging him out into the light.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean ran through the numbers again in his head before checking with his calculator a final time. 

He’d been running through the latest batch of orders that he’d need to place to stock them up for the next couple of months ever since Sam had left a little over two hours ago.

Through his open office door, he could see Castiel lounging across the window seat reading. He had just reached down and flicked on the overhead track lighting, bathing him in the soft yellowy light.

It had been a few days since Castiel’s birthday and he had seemed to ease back into being himself again, the traces of sadness slowly fading away from his scent. He didn’t hide away in his room after that day either.

Most of the time he could be found curled up in the library, nose buried in a book and under the blanket Dean had brought back despite it still being July. Every once in awhile Castiel would look up and meet his eyes, give him a soft smile, then return to reading, his blue eyes flicking over the pages quickly.

Dean would never admit it, but those smiles warmed him little by little. He hadn’t felt this content and happy since-

_ No. We will not think about that now. _

Thankfully, his phone started skittering across his desk, distracting him.

Sam’s name flashed across the screen and he hit the green answer button.

“Al’s Funeral Home - you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em.” 

In the other room Castiel looked up and gave him an almost exasperated look. Dean just grinned at him.

_ “-ean!” _

The grin dropped, the snippet of Sam’s voice that made it though sounded distressed.

“Sam? I can’t hear you, what’s going on?” He sat up, further drawing Castiel’s attention.

_ “-ut of now-re -was attacked - looking for y- help”  _

“Sam, what happened? Where are you?”

_ “I -”  _

The call cut off.

“Sam? Sam?!” Dean ripped the phone away from his ear and immediately hit redial, praying his brother would answer. By then his distress had brought Castiel into his office as well and he stood close by, watching as the phone rang and rang but no one picked up.

Panic started to sweep in, rolling over him in thick waves as he punched redial over and over again.

No answer.

Dean didn’t even know he’d begun to do the vampire equivalent of hyperventilating until he was already mid-way through what was undoubtedly a panic attack.

He couldn’t lose another one,  _ he couldn’t _ . Especially not Sam. He’d lost nearly everyone else, he couldn’t lose his brother.

_ No, no, no, nonononono- _

“Dean!” 

Castiel’s voice yanked him back from his panic. Warm hands framed his face, grounding him in the midst of his mental chaos.

“Dean, I don’t know what’s going on but I do know that panicking is not going to help. You’ve got to slow your breathing down first, though.”

He tried, God help him he tried, but he couldn’t quite slow down yet. 

Castiel grabbed his hand and placed it on the center of his chest.

“Try to match mine. Slow and even, okay?”

He focused intently on the warmth radiating under his palm and tried even harder to school his breathing.

Eventually, it matched Castiel’s perfectly. Once in sync, Castiel let go of him and stepped back a little.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

Dean shook himself a little and glanced at his phone again.

“Sam called. Something’s wrong but I don’t know what yet. He sounded… he sounded hurt and distressed. What if he’s hurt? What if I can’t find him? What if-”

“Stop. Everything’s going to be fine. Where was he headed?”

“North Smithville. He said something about staying the night in Providence first, though. He should have been there by now.”

“Okay, is there anyway you can track his phone?”

“I don’t know. The little shit knows Rhode Island like the back of his hand so I doubt he’d be using his GPS…” Dean trailed off for a moment before an idea struck him.

“Charlie.” He instantly began flipping through his contacts, wishing he’d finally just broke down and put her number on speed dial long ago.

“Charlie?”

Dean ignored the question in favor of clicking the call button.

_ Please pick up. _

_ “What’s up, nerd!” _ Charlie Bradbury’s exuberant shout rang out through the phone’s speaker.

“Charlie, I need your help. Something’s happened.”

_ “Aw shit, it’s always gotta happen on game night doesn’t it?” _

“I know, I’m sorry, but it’s Sam.”

_ “You have my attention, whatever you need, name it.”  _ Charlie’s tone went from playful and teasing to serious quicker than Dean could even blink.

“He called me a little over five minutes ago but the reception was bad so the call cut off. I think he’s hurt but-”

_ “I’ve already got him.” _

“I really love you sometimes.” 

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

_ “Yeah, yeah, sure you do. He’s about a mile and a half from Mount Hope Bridge and it’s reading that he hasn’t moved from that location in over an hour.” _

“Okay, I can make it there in less than thirty minutes but I’m gonna need clearance.”

_ “You’ve got it my friend. Call me when you find him.” _

“Thank you, Charlie. I owe you one.”

_ “You always owe me, Winchester.” _

Dean was up and on his feet as soon as the call ended, Castiel hot on his heels.

Taking the library staircase, he sprinted upstairs and into his bedroom. He rifled through his closet, shoving aside the large tool-box contraption that was set in the center and reached for the case in the back.

He armed himself with a gun, an extra clip, and his machete, then was on his feet and off to the garage.

“I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but you’re staying here, no questions asked. If he is hurt, we’re going to need blood and a lot of it. Don’t bother warming it but be liberal with the hot sauce.” 

Dean stopped and turned on his heel right in front of the garage door. He nearly ran right into Castiel’s chest, but neither seemed to have the capacity to care.

“Thank you.” He told him sincerely.

With a minute nod, Castiel urged him on, obviously in as much of a hurry to get Dean out after Sam as Dean himself was.

“The mantle in the Great Room has an opening lid. Inside it should be a gun and a knife. The gun is loaded with silver bullets, and while one won’t kill us, it’ll hurt like a bitch and slow us down. Anything or anyone that isn’t me or Sam, you kill them. Got it?”

Castiel nodded again.

“I’ll be fine. Go find Sam and bring him home.”

~~

Dean silently thanked Charlie for her magic skills when it came to clearing paths for him the whole drive. He didn’t know, and really didn’t  _ want  _ to know how or why she had access to that type of stuff, but he would forever be grateful for it.

Baby had done eighty the whole way and if he hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have hit the brakes in time to slow down at the first sign of trouble.

A large truck was blocking the middle of an intersection close to the outskirts of Portsmouth. Multiple skid marks, pieces of tire tread, and glass were strewn all across the road as well. The front of the truck was bowed in, almost as if it had hit something  _ very  _ hard. 

He slowed to a crawl and tracked the lines on the pavement until they dropped off into a ditch then disappeared. More glass and metal was left there as well.

He cut off the ignition and stepped out of the car, slowly following the trail. When he reached the edge of the ditch his heart dropped to his shoes.

Sam’s Dodge was in one big, crunched up ball, laying upside down a couple hundred feet away from the ditchline and there was blood  _ everywhere _ . 

Despite wanting to desperately, Dean did not run towards the wreckage, instead carefully treading around it and looking in every available area that someone might be able to get the jump on him from. 

That flew out the window the moment he spotted his bloody brother propped up against the car, though. Panic welled up in his chest and fear filled his lungs as he sprinted towards Sam.

He dropped to his knees by his seemingly unconscious brother and immediately reached for him. His hands hadn’t even made contact when Sam sprung, wrapping his around Dean’s throat, eyes blazing a furious silver.

“Dammit, Sam it’s me. Let go!” Dean gritted out while trying to pry his brother’s hands away.

Once his mind caught up with his body, he let go of Dean and slumped back with a low, pained groan.

“Dean.”

Sam’s hair was matted with blood, sweat, and dirt much like the rest of his body. Shards of glass, large and small, were embedded in his skin, one particularly big one was lodged into his cheek. A few fingers were bent in odd angles and his shoulder hung in an almost sickening way. 

The labored way he breathed left no doubt in Dean’s mind that there were broken ribs to be accounted for.

“Hey, rise and shine.” He snapped his fingers in front of his brother, “Look at me, Sammy.”

Glazed hazel eyes flicked to his own.

“What happened?”

Sam raised an arm and pointed behind Dean.

“They did.”

Three bodies lay in literal pieces scattered across the blood soaked grassy banks behind them. Two decapitated heads and what looked to be a severed arm were a few feet to their right. The third head lay face down a few hundred yards near a tree that looked like it had sustained some damage as well.

“That explains all the blood, but… the severed arm?”

Sam half-sighed, half-groaned again, then reached behind him and under the car. He held up a razor sharp chunk of metal coated in blood.

“He drug me out of my car.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah, we can celebrate my badassery later. There was a fourth but he got away.”

_ Shit. _

“Alright, can you stand?” 

Sam gave him an unsure look but nodded anyway.

He helped him up and onto his feet but ended up more carrying him to the Impala than walking him. As soon as he hit the leather interior, Sam passed out, adrenaline finally wearing off and pained exhaustion kicking in full force.

The drive back to the estate was just as quick, if not quicker, than the drive to the crash site.

He called Castiel when they were due under five minutes, telling him to get everything ready to roll as soon as he came in with Sam. The gates to the estate were already opened and Castiel was standing at the front door waiting by the time he came tearing through.

The two carried a semi-awake Sam into the house and onto one of the couches in the Great Room where Castiel had laid out multiple layers of towels. 

Despite setting him down as gently as possible, Sam still winced and hissed on contact.

“Dean. We have a problem.” Castiel pointed out quietly. He lifted up what was left of the back of Sam’s shirt and pointed to the angry hole still seeping on his brother’s back.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Silver bullet. Hurts like a bitch.” Sam rasped.

“Shit.”

Dean started prodding around the area while Castiel helped him tip back the first glass of blood. 

He didn’t know what he expected, but Castiel’s overall calmness in the whole situation was both astounding and relieving. Castiel didn’t ask a million questions or freak out at the sight of a bloody and beaten Sam. He worked efficiently and surely, as if some baser instinct had taken over and he was suddenly in his element.

It made Dean’s heart swell with pride again, but he’d mull over it later.

“Okay, Samsquatch, I’d tell you that this isn’t going to hurt but we’d both know I’d be lying. Ready?”

Sam swallowed the last swill of blood from the glass Castiel had been holding to his lips, looking slightly more alive, and nodded gravely.

“Get it over with.”

Using his finger and thumb, he dug into the warm flesh in search of the bullet and its fragments. Sam jerked and cursed but held himself as still as he could after, audibly grinding his teeth together.

“Tell me what happened.” Castiel said, no doubt in an effort to distract him.

“I was driving down the road just outside of Portsmouth, minding my own - _ fuck!-  _ business when I started to notice something was off. I hadn’t passed a single car or runner or anything for at least two miles which is really unusual for the area this time of year.” Sam paused and blew out a harsh breath when Dean pulled the first metal piece from him. 

Castiel and Dean shared a concerned look over Sam’s head before Castiel urged him on.

“Keep going.”

His brother sighed and started again just as Dean dove back into searching.

“All of the sudden this black Jeep came out of nowhere and nearly parked on the ass end of the Charger. I thought about calling then and - _ motherfucker that hurts _ \- I should have, but I figured it was just some asshole. Stupidly, I was so focused on what was behind me that I didn’t see the huge truck until it had smashed into the side of the car.”

Dean found another piece.

“After the car rolled off onto those banks you found me on, one of them thought it would be smart to reach in and drag me out. So, I grabbed hold of a piece of bowed in metal and went to work as soon as I was out.”

“They were expecting you, Dean. It was all too organized to be a random pack attacking.” Sam turned and looked over his shoulder at him. 

“Someone is after you.”

Dean didn’t answer, just grabbed hold of the last chunk of metal and fished it out, placing it with the other two in the empty glass Castiel had provided.

Sam sat back with a heavy sigh and a wince, then held out his hand for Dean to fix his fingers.

While he reset the oddly bent digits, Castiel went about picking out the many pieces of glass embedded in his brother’s skin, including the one that seemed to be buried deep in his cheek.

When Dean tried to lift his other hand, Sam nearly came off the couch with a yowl. 

“It’s his shoulder.” Castiel set the glass aside and began gently prodding at the area. He pressed on Sam’s bicep and the ball of his shoulder, assessing the damage.

“It’s not dislocated, it’s just-,” a small wet sound emanated from Sam’s shoulder, “separated. The tendons are ripped, so it won’t reset without a sling or something to support it.” 

His brother looked like he was going to vomit.

“Please don’t do that again.”

Castiel removed his hands with a quiet “sorry”.

Dean bent more to Sam’s level in order to set the fingers on that hand back in place. After that, he sat back on his haunches and lifted the ruined pants leg, taking stock of the amount of injury there as well.

A few touches confirmed that Sam’s entire left shin was shattered to pieces.

“That guy’s head was a little harder than expected after the crash.” Sam explained succinctly.

“Same guy whose arm you relieved him of?” Dean asked.

“Yep. I can feel a few ribs floating up here, Dean.”  He shifted uncomfortably, pointing out the places that he thought were damaged.

“You should have seen the looks on their faces when I killed that first one. You would have been proud.” Sam said quietly.

He stopped poking to look at his brother. 

Sam, in all his busted up glory, looked almost… meek under his gaze, like he was suddenly a child again, seeking out his older brother’s approval to validate that his life had been worth sparing after all.

Dean hated seeing that look on his little brother’s face. He hated that their culture had shunned something that Sam couldn’t help so much that even after seven hundred years, he still sought out approval for everything.

“Who says I’m not bursting with pride right now? When I’m not putting you back together again, Humpty, we’ll have a celebratory glass of O negative.”

Just like that, the expression melted away into one of repletion. Inwardly, Dean sighed and hoped for the millionth time that Sam would find someone that could show him that he was worthy all the time, not just when he did something that would incite pride, one day.

“The other two thought I’d be an easy target since I’m stunted. Morons.” Sam huffed.

Dean returned to his poking with a shrug.

“Hey it worked in our favor for once. Bigoted assholes.” 

“Stunted?” Castiel asked, then supplied Sam with another glass of blood.

“Yeah, it’s about time I explained that one, huh?  _ Ow!  _ Watch the ribs, jerk!” 

He dodged the half-assed swat at his head.

“Shut up and explain, bitch.”

“He is supposed to both stop talking and explain?” Castiel stated flatly, silently admonishing Dean.

Dean didn’t say anything after that.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	21. Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! An explanation is in the end notes. Enjoy!

Somewhere between the three of them getting settled and his fifth or sixth glass of blood, Sam began explaining. The color had returned to his cheeks slightly more instead of remaining the same ghastly pallor when he’d first arrived.

“Vampires come to be in one of two ways. You’re either turned by another vampire, like you, or you’re born one, though that is a pretty rare occurrence. Dean and I got the latter option.”

He paused for another sip of his drink and shifted a bit in his seat.

“Unfortunately, like human pregnancies, things can go wrong and have… consequences. When our mother was pregnant with me, she had a lot of issues and as a result, I came out as a stunted vampire, or a  _ ‘stunt’  _ as the rest of our society refers to me and others like me.”

Again, Sam’s earlier statement about being a freak rang in Castiel’s ears.

“How does an unborn vampire become a ‘stunt’ as you said?” He threw air quotes around a word he was quickly beginning to dislike.

To his surprise, Dean answered him instead.

“It has to do with some dormant chemical that gets released when too much stress is put on the baby. No one has ever been able to get exact specifics on it because there is a spectacular shortage of stunted vamps running around.”

“I take it that this isn’t common then?”

“It’s actually a lot more common than what anyone will ever let on. The problem is, most are killed at birth.”

Castiel was positive that his horror was evident on his face as well as his voice.

“Most are _ killed _ ? Why would they do that?”

“Because they’re a bunch of bigoted, pure breed fuckers.” Dean spat bitterly.

“No… I mean, they’re that too, but… never mind.” Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes in a way that told Castiel that it wasn’t the first time they’d had this discussion.

“Anyway, stunted vampires are seen as weaker than regular ones, even though the only difference between us and them is almost purely cosmetics. We don’t age up to around twenty-eight like the rest do, we normally land somewhere between seventeen and twenty-five. We lose our taste faster, we take slightly longer to heal depending on how bad we’re hurt, and we drink more blood than average to stay alive.”

_ “That’s it?” _

Sam sighed heavily, “That’s it. We are very much a pure bred type society, kinda like Sparta was, if you will. If you’re seen as weak or a liability, they’ll kick you off the cliff before you even know what’s happening.”

“Sam… you proved tonight that you are anything  _ but  _ weak. You fought off three-”

“Four.” Dean interjected.

_“Four.”_ Castiel amended. “You fought off four other vampires by yourself, _after_ a car wreck. That is not anywhere near weak.”

“I think Dean will agree with me on this: there is no difference between you and a regular vampire unless you allow it. I haven’t known you very long Sam Winchester, but the man I do know is not weak. He’s wildly intelligent, has an almost alarming obsession with hellfire in a bottle, and needs to brush up on his chess playing skills, but he is not weak.”

“And fuck anyone who says otherwise.” Dean finished for him.

Color stained Sam’s cheeks at their collective agreement.

“Not to, um, change the subject or anything guys, but there's been something I've been meaning to tell you.”

Dean waved for him to continue.

“One of them, the one that got away I think, said something before everything went to Hell in a handbasket.”

This seemed to catch Dean’s attention more fully.

“He said something like: ‘You don't smell half as sweet as hers did. She was so pure, so innocent... but she wasn't really that pure and innocent was she? From what I hear, Mary could downright dirty. What a shame we had to send her head rolling, huh? Tell her hello from us, yeah?’”

_ Mary? _

One could practically see the gears turning in Dean’s head as he processed the words, and Castiel felt like he was missing a pretty vital piece of the puzzle.

“That’s impossible.”

“I would have said the same thing, but I heard him clear as day. Dean. The way he said it, the look in his eye when he did… he wasn’t lying.”

Dean shook his head and stood, pacing around the end of the table and towards the mantle. He ran his hands through his hair, throwing it into further disarray. 

“Rogues, Sam. Rogues did it.”

“Or so we thought. What if it was more organized than what we realized?”

Castiel watched the whole exchange in silent confusion. He had no clue what they were talking about, but something told him that it was best not to ask. 

Especially with the amount of near palpable chagrin that now radiated off of Dean.

“Not possible.” Was the only answer Sam received before Dean abruptly stormed off and into another part of the house.  

~~~

For a few days after Sam’s attack, neither he or Sam saw much of the elder Winchester. Castiel would catch glimpses of him ghosting through the house and occasionally hear him mutter to himself about Mary and someone named Bobby before a door was slammed closed.

He spent most of his time helping Sam with whatever he needed as he continued to heal. 

It consisted of entertaining him mostly. 

Their afternoons were filled with lengthy book discussions as well as Theological philosophies and the occasional game of chess.

“You really need to think further ahead than that, Sam. While your strategy is solid, it’s too obvious and is easily outplayed.” He commented as he picked another few of Sam’s pieces off the board.

Said pieces were no longer the gaudy and mismatched ones from before. Instead, Sam had bought him a set of correlating onyx ones for his birthday.

Castiel pushed one of his pieces across the board and awaited Sam’s next move. 

In another part of the house they could both hear another door slam.

“He’s going to break every set of hinges in this house.” Sam said warily.

“Where does he keep disappearing to?”

Sam finally gave up and flicked over his king piece, surrendering. 

“The gym, probably.”

“This place has a gym?”

“Yeah… did you not find it when you were exploring before?”

“No, I can’t say I did.”

Sam gave him a strange look and started to clear the board.

“There’s a door on the other side of the kitchen. It leads downstairs to the basement where the gym is.”

_ You learn something new everyday.  _

“Actually, I have an idea. Why don’t you go down there and see if you can coax him out. I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been eating like he should and the last thing we need right now is him dropping out on us.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Me?”

“Yeah, he’ll just huff and storm off if I go down there. Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

_ Oh sure, let’s send me into the lion’s den. _

“You’ll be fine.” Sam amended, sensing Castiel’s apprehension.

Castiel helped him put away the rest of the chessboard and pieces before standing.

“Do you need anything?”

“Nah, I”m good. Go retrieve my brother from his self-loathing-whatever-funk he’s currently in.” Sam waved him on before shifting to lay sideways on the couch.

With that, he set out across the house to the kitchen. Following Sam’s description, he meandered through it and to the other end of it to the door he’d missed before.

Tentatively, he turned the knob and opened the door, revealing the steep set of stairs leading down. He quietly descended them, following the odd noise of what sounded like a bat hitting solid concrete.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he was met with a wall of gray brick and heavily frosted plexiglass. Through it, he could see a massive blur, which he assumed to be Dean, standing near something that was moving equally as fast. He couldn’t make out any distinguishing features or objects but he definitely could tell that the noise was coming from inside that room.

The door leading into the gym itself acted as a sound barrier, so Castiel was hit with the force of how loud it actually was in the room. Along with the bat and concrete noise, music blared and filled every corner of available space.

Said space was all massive gray brick and denim blue flooring, with one wall of nothing but mirrors, and the other with various oddly placed handles.

Everything one would ever need from treadmills and indoor bikes to balance beams and aerobics bars stood ready to be used. A whole line of heavy weight and speed bags hung from the ceiling alongside a metal beam with multiple holes that ran from one end of the room to the other. 

The Dean-shaped blur was at the end of the line of bags, near a weighted tire with a pole sticking out of the middle. Whatever was attached to the top of the pole was just as much of a blur.

Dean must have heard the door open, because when Castiel fully stepped inside a final hit was landed before everything stopped completely. It turned out that the thing he happened to be hitting was a black weight bag that stuck out off the top of the pole a few feet and swung around when hit, creating a punching bag that ‘hit back’. The bag now stood stagnant due the hand Dean had clamped around the end. 

Dean stood with his back to him, allowing Castiel the chance to admire the freckled muscle and additional ink that capped his shoulder and swung down his back. He strode over to the wall nearest to him to the stereo system built into the wall, turning the brash rock down to a low hum, then grabbed a towel off the hook beside it.

“Let me guess, Sammy sent you down?” Dean asked, turning to face him and drying his hairline. 

Castiel had only seen part of the sleeve tattoo that ran up the length on the elder Winchester's arm and a few peeks that stuck out under the collar of his shirts, but now he was fully struck with all of the gorgeous ink and it stole his response right from his mouth.

Directly over Dean’s heart, amidst the angles and curls of black ink, was a large sphere containing what Castiel guessed was either a sun or moon with sharp, jagged edges reminiscent of blades.

Dean was turning and throwing the towel into a laundry bin, breaking his trance before he could embarrass himself any further.

“Y-Yes. He- We were both worried that you hadn't been eating properly, so I thought I'd come down and ask if you’d like a drink?” Castiel’s voice gradually got smaller as he continued to speak.

A shiny bead of sweat trickled down the side of Dean's face when he looked over his shoulder again. 

A part of him wanted to chase it with his tongue.

“I'm fine.” He answered curtly and pushed past him, heading for one of the elliptical treadmills on the other side of the room.

Aggravation made a muscle in Castiel’s jaw tick.

The heavenly scent of  _ Dean  _ mixed with heady sweat made his knees go weak for a breath despite his irritation. 

Castiel briefly considered just leaving, not pushing him any further and running before things took a turn for the worse but his mouth won out. 

“The circles under your eyes say differently.” He snapped back.

Dean paused mid-step.

“Your brother, who is still recovering I might add, and your… protege are concerned for your well being but,  _ you're fine. _ Right.” Castiel's tone had grabbed an edge, and it made Dean turn to face him again.

His expression was different this time, unreadable, filled with some unknown emotion. A quiet fire flickered in his eyes.

“I can't be a good brother or  _ sire _ if I don't brush off my rust so I can protect you, now can I?” Dean's voice was softer and a bit huskier now.

The air around them now carried a certain mouthwatering taste to it, sweet and heady all at once. He'd smelled it before, when he'd come downstairs on his birthday. 

“You also can't protect us if you're too weak to stand.”

Dean propped a leg up behind him on the treadmill, drawing Castiel's eyes to it. Unfortunately, as they were known for, Dean's sweatpants hid nothing. 

Castiel could spot the beginnings of a very prominent erection forming, and just like that, all the air in his lungs disappeared and his mouth went dry.

He could feel his body begin to respond in return, and suddenly couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

It was obvious that Dean knew of the situation, on both parts, and was waiting for his next move. Silver peeked through the green of his eyes, glimmering almost dangerously. 

The thought of Dean striding across the room and taking him while shoved against the nearest wall flashed in his mind.

_ Gotta go. Now. _

“The offer s-still stands, whenever you're re-ready.” He stammered and started for the door.

Dean wasn't the only one that was going to be sweating if he didn't leave soon.

“Sweetheart, I've been ready.” Dean chuckled darkly from behind him.

Castiel didn't stop to ask what he meant, instead sprinted his way back up through the house and didn't stop until he was safely locked in his room. 

He wasted no time stripping and heading for the bathroom.

Castiel took in the sight of his reflection in the mirror. He was flushed from head to toe, eyes blazing liquid silver, and  _ very  _ hard. 

He paced towards the shower, turning it to scalding hot and stepped under the spray, relishing the near painful heat for a minute. 

Castiel had to choke back something suspiciously close to a whimper when he wrapped a hand around his cock. Precome leaked over his fingers and added to the slickness already there.

Despite trying to fight them, glimpses of bright green and silver eyes and dark ink filled his head until he finally gave in. He leaned his forehead against the shower wall, letting the hot water beat down his back as he reached behind himself.

Castiel imagined fingers that were not his own rubbing against his hole and stroked a little harder, faster. He imagined Dean was behind him, whispering filth in his ear and pushing a finger just inside him.

That was all it took to break him. 

He came, painting the wall in front of him, with Dean's name on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, we want to apologize to all our readers for how long this update took us. Thank you for being patient! 
> 
> We wanted to give you all a heads up that the Dean Cas Big Bang has officially started up again for this year, and we have decided to write a story for it! We are both really excited since this is our first time actually writing anything for the DCBB. However, because there is a deadline for that story, we will be focusing on working on that a lot. Of Winds and Moons will continue to be updated throughout, but, it might be a slightly slower process than what we were putting out before. 
> 
> Anyway, we hope you enjoyed this latest chapter! Things are just now starting to pick up, so buckle in!
> 
> ~K & J


	22. Twenty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

Castiel idly moved his king piece a space, too lost in thought to really think of the action.

He watched the dark gray clouds roll in under the edge of the awning he and Sam were sitting under. 

The wind that blew in held promise of rain and a lot of it.

He only half noticed when Sam moved one of his own pieces and swiped Castiel’s king piece off the board, a perplexed look coloring his features.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked, undoubtedly trying to sound casual, but failing to cover the undercurrent of worry in his voice.

Was he okay?

The default answer that he wanted to spring to was yes, he was perfectly fine and deflect by asking how Sam himself was feeling. It had only been a few days since the attack and, even though Sam was a fairly quick healer, he knew his shin still had to be giving him fits, especially with the imminent weather looming over them.

Only, the truth was, Castiel really wasn’t sure if he was okay. He bounced from emotion to emotion sporadically, enough to even make himself a bit dizzy, not to mention the whirlwind of thoughts and questions that just wouldn’t let him be. He was at war with both his body and mind, and was no closer to winning the fight against either.

"...I don't know?" The answer definitely came out as a question, but it was no less true.

Sam’s eyebrow wrinkled at it though.

"Um, okay... How do you not know?"

Castiel sighed and shook his head. "When I figure that part out, I'll let you know." He replied softly.

"Okay..."

There was a beat of silence between them as they watched the first raindrops fall and splatter on the concrete a few feet away from them. He deliberated over his next action for a few moments longer than probably necessary.

He could trust Sam. Right?

“Can I ask you something, Sam?" He asked, drawing both of their attention away from the rain.

"I don't see why not. Shoot." The younger Winchester turned toward him more fully and popped his elbows on the table between them, obviously ready to listen and give Castiel his full attention.

Yes, he could trust Sam.

"Is... is it possible to be jealous of someone you've never met?"

The question hung between them while a myriad of thoughts and emotions flickered across Sam’s face. 

Castiel thought he could spot a tiny hint of amusement before it was quickly wiped away.

"I guess it's possible, yeah. Why?"

"Just... curious?" Again, more of a question than an answer.

"Cas? You alright?" This time, Sam seemed genuinely concerned.

"I've been feeling... strange as of late.”

His companion cocked his head to one side and waited for him to continue.

“Dean seems to be having a profound affect on me recently, though I’m unsure why or how. I know he is courting someone else, so it seems irrational and ignorant to try and…”

“Harbor feelings for him?” Sam supplied for him.

“Something like that.”

“Well, I won’t lie to you. I’ve noticed your predicament lately. Unfortunately, something like that isn’t very subtle.” Sam tapped the side of his nose with a small smile.

Castiel felt his cheeks burn bright.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, it happens to all of us eventually.” He smiled wider and threw a wink Castiel's way, making his cheeks flame even more. 

Castiel pushed aside his mortification long enough to fully process what Sam had said.

“Eventually? You don't sound very surprised about this occurrence..." He trailed off and narrowed his eyes.

“Well…” Sam sat back and scratched the back of his head.

“ _ Sam _ .”

Sam studied him for a few long moments, seeming to deliberate his next choice of words.

Finally, he sighed and sat forwards again, "This... thing you've been feeling here lately... Dean feels it, too."

Castiel resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well, that would seem normal for a man that is courting a soul mate or whatever you refer to it as."

"We just refer to them as mates, but yes he feels that towards his mate." 

He tried to ignore the bolt of bright jealousy that speared through him, he did, but he was unsuccessful. 

He mentally kicked himself a few times. There was no reason for him to be jealous, not a single one.

Hell, he was supposed to be still pissed at the man in question for turning him in the first place, which put the notion even farther off the table than before.

_ Snap out of it. _

"I'm sure they're very lucky but that doesn't explain anything, Sam.” He managed to grit out.

The younger Winchester slapped to a hand to his forehead and muttered something to himself before rolling eyes towards the sky, seemingly praying for patience.

"You two are fucking ridiculous.  _ Cas, you are his mate _ ."

Time seemed to slow down and stop for the space of a heartbeat. The world pitched and yawned, swaying, tipping, and swirling violently in a near nauseating fashion. The rain seemed to pick up a bit more as the statement bounced and reverberated in his head, looping over and over until the meaning finally sunk in.

Mate.

_ Dean’s mate. _

He, Castiel, was Dean’s mate.

" _ What _ ."

He heard the word leave him, breathily and shaken, but did not feel it pass through his teeth, did not feel his lips form the sound.

"The night you were attacked, he brought you back here. You were in really bad shape and the chance of you making it was slim to none, so he made a choice."

The world snapped back, crystal clear and sharp, just like it did the night he woke up a vampire, and, also just like that night, he was filled with a blast of white hot fury, threatening to boil over in an instant.

Thunder rumbled angrily overhead as the brunt of the storm began to roll over the edge of the coast.

"I see." Castiel’s voice was hard and cold.

"Cas,” Sam began, “you have to understand, this is a once in a lifetime-"

_ No. _

"Thank you, Sam.” He cut him off abruptly and was on his feet before he could even blink. 

“If you'll excuse me, I have a Winchester to kill."

“Cas, wai-” Sam’s protest was cut off by the slamming of the front door.

Castiel didn’t even realize what was happening until he was storming across the library floor, headed straight for the small door hidden along the wall. Lightning speared across the sky through the bay window, reflecting the raging fury inside in bright, splintering flashes.

The door to Dean’s office didn’t stand a chance against him.

It bounced and shuddered against the wall from the amount of force he put behind flinging it open, the hinges screeching in protest.

For a fraction of a second, a spot of confusion colored Dean’s features before smoothing out into a calm mask of something Castiel would dare call defeat.

“ _ You son of a bitch _ .”

Dean sighed and set aside the pen he’d been writing with, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the smooth wood of the desk.

“Sam told you.”

"When were  _ you  _ planning to tell me?” Castiel countered, pointing a finger at Dean and stepping closer. 

“Did you think that just because you showed up like a knight in shining armor that I would just eventually fall for you and become your little plaything to do with as you please?" He continued to inch closer as every infuriated word melted away his conscience and left him stupidly brave.

Dean looked as if he wanted to say something, but kept quiet instead, waiting for Castiel to continue.

"Just when I was beginning to think I could trust you, I go and learn that yet another choice has been taken from me." Castiel laughed bitterly.   
"What-"   
" _ Conveniently _ , I managed to forget that I'm supposed to despise you, just for what you are and what you did to me. I did my damnedest to see you as you instead of a monster, but it seems I shouldn't have bothered."   
"Cas, you-"

His fists slammed into the wood of Dean’s desk hard enough to rattle the previously abandoned pen right off the edge. 

Dean didn't even flinch.    
" _ It's. Castiel _ ." He growled a mere few inches from Dean’s face.

Time seemed to stretch and slow between them with furious silver-blue eyes glaring at unyielding green ones.

He didn’t know how long the two of them sat there staring at each other, but he could see a muscle along the line of Dean’s jaw twitch as if he was preparing to try to say something again.

“Don’t.”

Castiel left as quickly as he’d arrived, not bothering to shut the door as he left the room and ascended the stairs in the far corner of the library.

He wasn’t sure what to do with himself once he’d shut himself away in his room, but the problem was quickly resolved when he spotted the multiple stacks of books and folders strewn across his bed.

All of them smelled faintly of dust and Sam, indicating that the younger Winchester had been the one to deliver them. 

On top of one of the stacks was a piece of yellow legal paper, with Sam’s slightly messy handwriting scrawled across it.

_ Sit, read, learn, and enjoy. These should help answer some questions.  _

Curious, he opened the book directly under the note, thumbing through the pages until he landed on one with a bright green bookmark tab. He climbed around the stacks and up towards the head of the bed, reading as he went.

_ “By definition, a mate is any one individual human or vampire that has had a mating bond placed upon them. Due to the danger of a human-to-vampire mate, vampire-to-vampire mates are more common.  _

_ Once a vampire's true mate is found, the human undergoes the turning process before the bond is placed. (More information on the turning process on page 132.) _

_ A true mate is the equivalent of that of a soul mate, a once in a lifetime human gifted to a vampire. Life mates appear regardless of gender, color, ethnicity, or sexuality. They are suited to match up with their mate fully, complimenting as well as contrasting their counterpart perfectly.” _

It went on to describe a few of the things the Winchesters had told him about, including one line in particular.

_ “Sires of a certain age may find their sense of taste somewhat returning to them, but not wholly if they have found their life mate.” _

Dean’s revelation at the diner niggled at the back of his mind. 

The information fed into his curiosity even more, and he began to leaf through the book further, finding another bright green tab there as well.

_ “A mating bond is placed most often during copulation; whereas, two consenting individuals release a gene specific toxin into the bloodstream of their partner. The toxin binds them together, placing what is known as a mating bond.” _

A mental image of the two of them flickered in his head, but Castiel willed it away and kept reading.

_ “If one or both individuals are not consenting of the mating, then the mating bond will not be placed. Forced as well as incestious matings are not possible. _

_ In rare cases, a half-mate will form. (See page 168)” _

Attention thoroughly caught, he flipped to the designated page.

_ “A half-mate is a phenomenon that can occur when a human is turned into a vampire, and the toxin is released into the bloodstream via the initial bite without either party being aware. Afterwards, both the protegee and sire are left with the after effects of said half-mate bond.  _

_ Rapid mood fluctuations and increased libido towards both individuals are the most common effects. Depression, anxiety attacks, decreased appetite, frequent headaches, flu-like body aches, and other physical and psychological effects may also occur. _

_ If a half-mate is not resolved by either consummation or termination it could lead to lasting and sometimes fatal psychological effects.” _

Things began to fall into place as he read the information before him. 

His ever present mood swings, the random sweeps of arousal, and dull aches in various parts of his body started to make sense more than ever.

Castiel found both comfort and concern at the prospect of a half-mate bond being the only thing residing between he and Dean. The comfort being that he still had a choice in the matter unlike he’d previously assumed. The concern being that, while he was very, very angry with Dean, he didn’t want to cause either of them an unjust amount of pain.

So, with that in mind, he settled further into his bed and started pouring over all the information the book contained. Once he finished, he picked up another and so on and so forth.

For days he read, leaving the lore only to do necessities. Castiel slept, showered, and ate, but mostly locked himself away to dive deeper into the world of vampiric mating bonds.

He lost himself deep in the lore of various cultures’ takes on mating and mates. Some held rituals and sacrifices while others left the deed up to the two in question.

The folders held translations of books from other parts of the world, both new and old.

Most told the same information as the first he’d read, which he decided must have been the most modern version, but still he soaked up the knowledge.

Slowly, as he plowed through each, he came to the relieving conclusion that he was in control of the situation. If he wanted to back out, to reject the bond, he had the power to do so.

For once, he had the power to say no to something that could change his life.

Everything up until that point had been either a necessity or a choice made for him. 

College had been something he had absolutely had to do. He had earned a degree that would in turn give him the ability to earn enough money to keep him afloat just so he could survive.

Becoming a vampire was a choice made for him by Dean, even if it was his only way of living after the attack in his apartment.

This time  _ he  _ was calling the shots

~~

Castiel eventually found himself by the ocean with an old Armenian book translated into English by his side.    
He'd cast the translations aside earlier, unable to read any longer. Having poured over countless texts, translated from dozens of different languages, Castiel read until the words began to run together and form jumbles instead of coherent sentences.   
The rocky outcroppings that Castiel chose to sit amongst weren't the most comfortable but they provided a breathtaking view.   
He'd seen a thousand sunsets throughout his twenty-eight years, and, truly, this one was no different. Except, that it was different, in some unidentifiable way.   
  
Flaming reds met hot pinks towards the horizon, ascending higher until the blazing oranges and striking yellows melted into indigo and large expanses of purple-black. The fading light cast a warm halo the color of burnished gold coins around him and threw dark shadows on the ground behind him.

For a few minutes both the sun and moon held places in the sky, coexisting in a sort of ethereal harmony, until the sun became nothing more than a bright glimmer and finally disappeared. Silvery twinkling stars spread out above him, forming their respective constellations as well as abstract pictures for him to pick out like a child. 

It was then that he decided how to take control of the situation.

_ That  _ was what made the picturesque setting so different.

He was going to give Dean a chance, albeit a very small one, but a chance none the less. 

Decision made, he rested his back against the cool rocks and gazed at the stars until the wind blowing off the ocean became too cold for him to stand any longer. He trudged back up the uneven path he’d come down from and back into the house, book in hand.

Castiel did not see the figure standing on the balcony of the mansion, watching him with a sort of sad fondness.

~~

Castiel told Dean of his decision the next day, more or less, while he was fixing himself breakfast.

"Do not think for a second that this will be easy." He made the statement as he was setting his glass on the bar, running a finger over the glass lightly.

Dean set down the stack of papers he’d been pretending to read and informed him softly, "Nothing worth anything is easy to obtain.”

Castiel grunted at that and grabbed his blood bag from the microwave.

“I want you to know something, though." Dean continued.

Castiel leveled him with a sharp look, " _ Now _ you want to start telling me things."

His tart tone earned a sigh and slight drop of Dean’s shoulders.

"...I deserved that one."

"Well, what is it?" Castiel knew he sounded impatient and quite frankly, bitchy, but he did say that it wouldn’t be easy.

"I didn't intend to force you into anything, I was only trying to save you. The mating part just ended up happening in the process.” Dean paused to run his hands through his hair, “I will  _ never  _ force you into anything. If you decide that you don't want this at all, ever, then I will let you walk. No strings attached."

The ending statement caught him off guard, but a part of him appreciated it greatly.

"Do you swear?" 

"On my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	23. Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J
> 
> Tags:  
> Graphic depictions of gore and violence  
> General dark themes

It started with a small snicker emanating from the other side of the wall.

There were a few moments of silence before another one could be heard, a bit louder and closer this time.

From his spot behind his desk and through his open office door, Dean could see Castiel browsing through one of the many shelves in the library.

Every so often Sam would walk over to him and hand him a book, each one garnering a different response. Some he laughed quietly over and others he openly stared at Sam’s back in horror, and by the third or fourth one, Dean had caught on to what was happening.

Sam was introducing him to their collection of books with rather… _interesting_ titles.

_Oh this should be good._

“ _How To Sharpen Pencils_. Why would one need an entire book for that?” Castiel asked incredulously, holding up the iridescent yellow book.

Sam frowned and shrugged, “Idiots are born every day.”

Castiel seemed to entertain that thought for a moment before nodding and putting it back on the shelf. The two milled around for a few more minutes, giggling over random titles, while Dean doodled on the top corner of his notes listening to them.

The beginnings of a face were starting to form when Castiel read another title aloud.

“ _How To Be Inappropriate._ I don’t think I want to venture inside that one…”

“Try this one.”

Castiel caught the book that was sent flying at him with ease.

His expression was nothing short of _priceless_.

“ _Why Do Men Have Nipples? Hundreds of Questions You’d Only Ask Your Doctor After Your Third Martini._ What?!”

He turned around and stared straight at Dean, “Why do you have this!?”

Dean just grinned and shrugged.

That would be a story for another time.

He could see Castiel’s eyes narrowing but he was quickly distracted by the next book flying at him.

“Here, how about this one instead?” Sam laughed when it bounced off his hands and smacked him in the chest.

Dean sketched a few more lines while Castiel sputtered over the given title.

“ _The Haunted Vagina._ Seriously, what is wrong with you two?  It’s stuff like this that makes me thankful I’m gay.” He muttered.

“No haunted vaginas then, noted.”

Castiel turned and gave him an exasperated grin for the comment.

“This one should be more your speed then, I think it’s from Dean’s personal collection, actually.” There was a laugh in Sam's voice and he had a feeling he knew what was just handed over.

“ _Macho Sluts.”_ A beat of silence settled between the three of them before he turned and said, “You have very interesting tastes Mr. Winchester.”

Dean threw a saucy wink his way, watching his cheeks tinge pink.

This time Castiel plucked his own book from the shelf, his resulting chuckle filled with a sort of fondness, “ _The Jewish-Japanese Sex and Cookbook and How To Raise Wolves.”_

He held the book up for Dean to see, _“_ Interestingly enough, Balthazar has an exact copy of this in his classroom.”

Dean didn’t miss the look of sad fondness that flitted across his features before turning to toss the book back to Sam.

The two goofed off for a few minutes and another handful of lines appeared on the face he was drawing before the sound of his phone skittering across his desk distracted him.

He smiled when he saw the name on the caller ID and pressed the green button.

Dean cleared his throat and put on his best southern accent, "Well well well, if it ain't my favorite Southern Gentleman.  Are ya finally callin' to give me that fabled peach cobbler recipe?"

“ _Hate to break it to you, brother, but you're not getting your hands on Granny Black’s peach cobbler recipe. Bright side is that your imitation of a Southern accent is getting a little more tolerable._ ” Benny, his best friend and Governor of Louisiana and Vermont, grumbled on the other end of the line.

“There's one win at least. How are you, Benny?”

“ _I've been worse I suppose. How are you, Sam, and the newest youngin’?_ ”

“We're managing and making progress I think.”

“ _Good, good._ ” Dean could tell by the way he said it that there had to be impending news and decided to go ahead and get it over with.

“Well, I know you didn't call just to deny me that recipe again. What can I do for you?”

There was a pause and a heavy sigh from Benny before he began.

“ _Remember those odd reports from before, with the strange groups of murders?_ ”

Dean nodded to no one in particular.

“I do.”

“ _Unfortunately, things have gotten worse._ ”

Dean sat a little straighter in his chair and made eye contact with Sam. He could see his brother’s gaze flicker over to Castiel for a moment, a silent question hanging between them.

He nodded once.

If he wanted to show Castiel he was serious about this relationship, it was time he introduced him to the family business, so to speak.

“Alright, hang tight for a minute. I'm going to put you on speaker and bring Sam in so you only have to explain it once.”

Sam took a seat directly in front of him while Castiel folded himself on top of the window seat.

“Okay, go ahead.”

“ _There has been an increase in disappearances and killings recently all around the area. Whole towns up in smoke, men and women- young ones- just outright taken from their homes. Elderly, sick, disabled, and the really young have been slaughtered. It's... been a nightmare.”_

Benny sounded so tired and Dean felt for him. Their job may sound glamorous but it was everything but.  
  
_“Charlie has been bouncing all around the map, trying to track down anything that would help us find out what the hell is going on. She hadn't found anything anywhere._   
  
_Until this morning._   
  
_The town is on the edge of Rhode Island, just inside your territory lines. Charlie is already there pulling what she can but they need real authority there before they'll give up anything concrete. I'm sure she's pilfering information anyway but I know you boys, an attack on your land and against your people won't be dismissed_. ”   
  
“You're absolutely right. Call Charlie and let her know we'll be coming in soon, full FBI coverage or whatever she wants to spin.”

“ _No problem, I'll let her know. I’m sending the address to Sam now.”_

“Thank you, Benny.” He told him sincerely.

“ _We protect our own Dean, it ain't nothing but a thing_.”

He ended the call and sat back, rubbing a hand over his eyes. A moment later Sam’s phone chimed in his pocket.

“Got the address. The place is about an hour and a half away, probably no more than forty-five minutes with your driving. We’ll hit it sometime this afternoon but before nightfall.”

Dean nodded and grabbed the sheet he was doodling on and crumpled it, throwing it away in the trashcan beside his desk.

“Let’s roll then. Our gear is in the garage in one of the bottom cabinets.”

He stood and pointed a finger at Castiel, “That means you, too, Chuckles.”

The look of surprise didn’t linger long before Castiel was on his feet and heading for the stairs.

~~~

Ten minutes later they were out in the driveway and he was handing Castiel a _very_ sharp knife, instructing him on how to use it.

“I need you to stay behind me at all times, but, if something happens, start swinging. Aim for about here and don’t hold back.” He pointed out the ideal spot on his neck.

“I know it’s obvious but make sure the edge is what is making contact, a blunt edge won’t do you any good.”

Castiel studied the blade, testing its weight and inspecting the handle carefully before asking, “Can I throw it at them?”

Dean paused and thought about it, “Yeah, I guess you could, but you might have better luck just swinging. You gotta hit the heart just right for a kill shot.”

Castiel grunted and walked down the driveway a bit more, until he was squared up with one of the sweet birch trees. He flipped the knife around his hand a few more times before sending it flying, his execution damn near perfect.

It speared the trunk of the tree closest to him, pinning one of the leaves that had been falling to it.

Dean watched, dumbfounded and a little hot under the collar, as Castiel strode over to the tree, pulling the knife and leaf off the trunk and bringing it back to him. He handed Dean the leaf with a sort of smug smirk and took the sheath from him, placing the knife inside while Dean stared at the yellow-green leaf in his hand.

From the midpoint of the leaf all the way up through the stalk, the leaf was split in half into two symmetrical pieces.

“Yeah, yeah, you can throw it.” He mumbled, still staring down at the leaf.

Castiel grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, “Keep it as a souvenir.”

He had the courtesy to wait until Castiel had climbed into the Impala before muttering, “Fuckin’ showoff.”

Castiel just laughed.

~~~

No matter how old Dean got, something about the smell of dead and rotting flesh, especially after it had baked in the sun, would always make his stomach turn. Beside him, Sam was turning slightly green as well.

He spared a glance in the rearview, finding Castiel staring out of the window, taking in their surroundings with a clenched jaw and hardened eyes.

One could easily picture what the tiny town had looked like before the incident.

The place barely qualified as a town, more suited to be a suburban neighborhood than anything with its population of just over five hundred.

White picket fences and cookie cutter houses lined the streets on one side, and small, locally owned shops the other. They passed remnants of a park and playground on the way in, rusted over from disuse.

It probably hadn’t seen children small enough to play on it in years.

Now its quaint and quietness added to the horror show it had become.

White fences were now stained a deep brown-red, their manicured lawns littered with furniture and gore. Shop windows were busted and shattered, a twisted and mangled leg left to hang out of one.

Dean was fairly sure that he had seen a body carelessly thrown over the lone park bench when they came through as well.

The streets and sidewalks were streaked with patches of sticky crimson blood, signs people, many of them, had been dragged through.

They crept through the town, following the main road, no sound but the Impala’s rumble to announce their presence. Eventually they rolled to the gas station on the far end of the town, slowing to a stop beside a silver Chevy Malibu.

Dean made quick work of retrieving their gear from the trunk, passing Sam a machete and taking one for himself, then tucked his 1911 in his waistband.

He could see a blur of red and black through the filth covered window and assumed it to be Charlie.

The three entered the station, stepping over the mess they were immediately met with. Shelves and racks had been toppled over and nearly every spot on the floor was covered in a mix of what looked to be snacks, soda, and blood.

“I am so glad you’re here.”

Charlie vaulted easily over the end of the counter, side stepping a rack, and bounded over to them. She nearly bowled him over when she reached them, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tight.

“Hey there, kiddo.”

He pressed a kiss into the short mop of red hair and let her step over to Sam, who gave and received the same treatment.

“You cut your hair.” Sam commented, twirling a lock of it around his finger.

She batted his hand away, “I needed a change.”

“Maybe you should take notes from her, Sammy.” Dean aggravated, trying to make light of the situation and fact that they were standing in chaos.

He got a bitch face for his efforts.

Dean stepped forward and more towards the counter, allowing Castiel space to move farther in as well.

“You must be Castiel!” Charlie greeted him with enthusiasm, surprising all three of them.

The surprise went even further when she wrapped him up in a hug, just like she had Dean and Sam. Castiel looked confused and somewhat endeared by the action and returned it with a light squeeze.

“And you are Charlie, I assume.”

She nodded and punched him in the shoulder, “It’s good to meet you, dude.”

Castiel watched her with a faintly amused smile and rubbed at his shoulder.

“To you as well.”

Charlie grinned at him again before turning back to Dean.

“Well, we all know and can smell why we’re here, so let’s get this show on the road, huh?”

“Lead the way.”

Charlie stepped around the counter again, and pulled a heavy monitor towards them.

“So, this chaos has been going on for a few months now but it finally really hit a peak in the past three. I’m sure Benny told you about the other places just going poof. I’ve been following them best I can, but I’ve always been too late and there hasn’t been anything solid to go off of until this morning.”

She pressed a few buttons and a silent video appeared on the monitor.

Flashes of movement could be seen in the far corner, but, for about fifteen seconds, nothing substantial came across.

Then something slow started to come up from the bottom corner.

It was a man carrying what was undoubtedly a body.

Another one showed up as well, a woman this time, dragging a flurry of movement behind her, surely another body. More and more came across, dragging or carrying them down the street and out of town.

If one looked closely enough, they could see the silent faces of terror as countless men and women were toted away.

“This isn’t a rogue pack like we originally thought.” Charlie started. “There are too many of them and they’re way too organized. Someone is conducting this and they have very specific tastes. I haven’t had time to go through all the houses and document the missing, but I’m willing to bet it’s the same MO from all the others.”

“That being?”

“Young, healthy, and capable, doesn’t matter if they’re a man or woman. If they’re _too_ young, like kids, or too old, they’re just slaughtered and left to be found, and someone definitely wants them to be found.”

Castiel propped his elbows on the counter and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“That is extremely disturbing.”

Charlie sighed, “It gets worse.”

She pushed another few buttons and pulled a second video up on the monitor, this one with sound but in black and white.

There was a woman standing behind the counter and another milling about over by the drinks. The view switched and showed a portion of the window as well, just as the parade of people being ripped away from their homes was marching down the street.

A few screams were loud enough to make it inside the building and pick up on the feed.

“What the hell is going on out there?” The voice of the cashier came through, slightly distorted.

About the time the other woman rounded the corner to assess the situation, the door to the station opened and a pair entered.

Two men headed straight for the back, one veering off to grab the woman by the drinks while the other, opened the door to the manager’s office, dragging out the unseen third human in the building.

Said human wasn’t going down without a fight.

He wasn’t a small man, by any stretch of the imagination, and somehow he managed to knock he and his captor off balance, sending them toppling into one of the shelves. The sound of the women screaming and the shelves falling over, taking everything in their path with them, had to have been deafening when it happened.

The two struggled for a few more moments before the vamp got bored of the fight and ripped the human’s throat out, leaving him to bleed out all over the floor.

That explained the mess.

When this happened, the cashier tried to make a run for it, but was stopped just as she reached the door.

The vamp backed her up against the counter and started to taunt her.

“What a pretty little thing you are…”

The cashier jerked away from him, trying to squirm away but he had a grip on her arm that looked incredibly painful.

“Please. Please, just let me go.”

“Pretty and a beggar? Lucky me…” He trailed a finger down her face, “Tell me, what’s your life worth?”

She squirmed again, “Anything. Anything you want, just please, don’t hurt me. I’ve got a family and-”

“Shh, I know you do, but, you see, they’re already either gone or dead.”

Even through the distorted camera feed, one could see the absolute terror on the woman’s face.

Beside him, Castiel turned away from the screen, something that Dean couldn’t quite pin down in his eyes.

“Quit fucking around and playing with your food. We have more work to do.” The other vampire snapped.

He held a hand up, signaling for quiet, “Such a shame, we could have had so much fun. Oh well… Unfortunately, my dear, you’re a bit too old for the boss lady.”

He pulled her a little closer, “Sorry, sweet cheeks but playtime is over.”

“No, plea-”

Her cry was cut off when he yanked her head to the side and buried his face in her neck. She struggled and fought against him before his obvious impatience from before got the better of him and he snapped her neck.

Wiping his mouth, he let her body drop to the ground. He spit some of her own blood on her and made a loud sound of disgust.

“What a disappointment.”

Then the two left the building, dragging the other woman behind them.

Charlie stopped the video and pushed the monitor away.

“There’s nothing else after that except for when I came in. No signs of anyone, vampire or human, alive anywhere when I arrived just… a lot of dead people.” Her voice was small and pained.

Dean squeezed her arm sympathetically.

Charlie’s job was just as hard and stressful as his own, but she often didn’t get a break from it and that had to eventually take a toll. He didn’t say anything about the dried blood that flaked off her arm and hand, no doubt from where she’d moved the bodies inside the gas station somewhere else.

She cleared her throat and gave him a small, sad smile.

“I don’t know who this ‘boss lady’ is or what she’s doing with these people. I was just about to go search through some of the houses and see if I could find anything that might lead us to them.”

Sam nodded, “That’s a good plan. They may have been careless and left something behind.”

“Alright, we have a plan then. We’ll split into pairs so we can cover more ground faster.” He turned to Castiel, “Pick your partner.”

Castiel’s cheeks pinkened slightly and he glanced over at Charlie and Sam. This was his choice, Dean was giving that to him, so if he wanted to go with someone else he wouldn’t stop him.

Even though he really wanted to just make him stay in the gas station or the Impala and keep him from having to see any more carnage.

To his surprise, Castiel stepped closer to him.

“Let’s go.”

Dean nodded and turned towards the door, “We’ll meet back here at sundown, which will be about an hour -two- tops. Castiel and I will take the far side of town, you two take this side and the shops.”

“Sounds good. Call if you find anything.”

With that, he and Castiel stepped out of the gas station and started down the road, heading back into the heart of the chaos. They walked down the middle of the street, Dean in front and Castiel close behind, both sticking to the fading yellow line beneath them.

With the town being as small as it was, it didn’t take long for them to reach the other side and start working their way through the patches of identical homes.

From the outside, one wouldn’t be able to tell anything was wrong with the first home, besides the putrid smell of death and the lawn needing a slight trim. Flowers grew up in the beds out front, peeking from the earth and swaying in the breeze. The cheery welcome mat at the front door was slightly askew but otherwise undisturbed.

Inside was much of the same. Aside from the smell being stronger, it was clean and well kept, only a light film of dust covering the pictures in the front hall. The kitchen and dining room to their immediate right was spotless as well.

The only visual sign that something awful had happened there was in the living room.

An older couple, mid-to-late seventies Dean would say, were sprawled in the floor in front of a silently playing television. The woman was on her back, nightgown stained a scarlet-brown, and the man on his stomach, one arm outstretched towards the woman.

They’d died reaching for each other.

Dean swallowed hard and assessed Castiel, trying to gauge if he was really up for the situation.

What he was met with was the same expression from when they’d first arrived, a clenched jaw and an unreadable emotion floating through his azure blue eyes.

He didn’t look away when Castiel caught him staring, but did when Castiel nodded, seemingly knowing that he needed the assurance that he could handle this.

So, they continued on.

The rest of the house was as well taken care of, and they found nothing that would lead them any further, so they exited the house, closing the door quietly behind them.

House after house they found variations of the same scene, men and women slaughtered and carelessly thrown about. Some houses were completely empty, no doubt from the mass purge that they’d watched march down the street in the video from earlier.

The last home they encountered was closest to the playground and Dean could immediately tell that there was something off about it the moment they stepped foot on the lawn.

Carnage, more so from any of the other houses, awaited them inside.

Blood slicked the entire front hallway, and Dean cautioned Castiel. He didn’t have a good feeling about this house and wanted him alert.

Castiel seemed to understand and unsheathed the blade he’d been given.

The two crept silently through the house, shoes making a slight slick noise on the mess underfoot. A man, younger than any of the rest they’d encountered, lay in multiple pieces throughout the kitchen, literally torn limb from limb. Signs of a very obvious struggle were everywhere, from the bloody handprints on the counters and fridge, to the butcher’s knife laying a few scant inches from the man’s mangled fingers.

A small, dotted trail of blood led up the stairs, drawing Dean’s eye.

He tapped Castiel on the shoulder and mouthed for him to stay downstairs while he checked above. Castiel didn’t look particularly happy about having to stay behind, but he nodded anyway, and pointed towards the living room, signaling that he’d look for clues in there.

Dean took the stairs with as much care as he had the hall, grimacing at the bloody boot prints that were left in his wake.

The first room on his left was empty and relatively undisturbed. It looked to be a child’s room, but something that Dean couldn’t quite pin down was off about it. His attention was diverted away from the closed door on his right when he spotted a bloodied handprint on the door frame of the final room along the hall.

There was a sense of immediate regret when he looked inside and he had to force himself not be sick.

The last room was a nursery.

Inside lay the mangled bodies of a mother and child, who were no doubt trying to flee to safety. He didn’t have to look inside the crib to know what he would find.

Behind him, he could hear Castiel ascending the stairs and there was no way in Hell that Dean was allowing him to see that room.

Dean met him halfway and stopped him with a hand on his chest, silently shaking his head. Castiel had a children’s book in his hand and tears in his eyes.

“Both?” He asked quietly.

Dean nodded and gently took him by the arm, leading him back downstairs. Castiel didn’t fight him, even when they stopped in the living room and he put a hand on his shoulder.

It took him a minute but Castiel stood a little straighter after that, angered determination flashing in his eyes. He spared Dean a look that might have been grateful before nodding and exiting the house.

They met Charlie and Sam back at the gas station just as darkness was settling over the town. Both of them looked as emotionally exhausted as he and Castiel were but there was something definitely up with Sam.

The answer to his silent question came in the form of a note with hastily scrawled handwriting on one side and smudges of dirt and blood on the other.

_Too little, too late Winchesters. Better luck next time._

No one said anything when a box holding lighters sitting on the counter went flying, smashing against the wall and sending a dozen Bic lighters clattering in a hundred different directions.

“I need to make a phone call.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, merely stomped back outside and pulled his cell from his pocket. Dean scrolled through his contacts and tapped a name, hoping that they weren’t asleep.

It rang once before being picked up.

“ _Ah Mr. Winchester, it’s been quite some time since we last spoke._ ”

“Yes sir, I know. I hate to be rude but I’m sure you know why I’m calling.”

“ _I do. You have the Council’s permission to do whatever is necessary to cover this up. Leave nothing behind._ ”

“Absolutely.”

“ _Dean, do find who did this rather quickly._ ”

“Yes sir.”

As quick as the call had been picked up it was disconnected again, leaving Dean to say his goodbyes to nothing but empty air.

_Typical._

~~~

In the end, they decided that a freak accident fire would be the only way to cover something that large up. Luckily for them, the town was somewhat old, meaning the natural gas line that ran to everything in the town was close to the surface and easily flammable.

Charlie left out about fifteen minutes before them, going to find a hotel to crash in and see what she could dig up the next day.

He and Castiel sat in the Impala and watched Sam rig up the gas pumps, opening all of them full blast before lighting a cigarette at the end of one of the trails. They had about a minute or so before the gas station went up in flames and less than that before the resulting explosion reached the gas line.

The Impala was roaring past the playground just as the first fireball touched the sky.

He finally saw the expression of horrified sadness on Castiel’s face, illuminated by the red-orange glow, when Castiel thought he wasn’t looking.

For the second time that day, Dean didn’t look away when Castiel caught him staring.

Sam punched him in the shoulder, “Pay attention to the road.”

~~~

The three of them trudged tiredly into the house some time later, heading for the kitchen.

Dean hesitated on making them all drinks but did it anyway. His stomach had finally settled enough for him to be hungry and he was sure Sam and Castiel felt the same.

They each sipped quietly on the warm liquid, letting the silence settle between them for a while.

Castiel was the one to finally break it.

“You two are not monsters.”

Dean knew his expression had to be one of pure surprise, but Castiel didn’t seemed fazed by it.

“Whoever did this, whoever is orchestrating this chaos… they’re the monsters here.”

He looked straight at Dean.

“And we’re going to find them.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LIke it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	24. Twenty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

Castiel was floating on the edge of consciousness one moment, desperately trying to make up for several nights worth of lost sleep due to horrid nightmares, and the next he was wide awake and listening. 

He'd set the television in The Great Room on a local news channel and turned it down low, then curled on the couch to try and relax. 

Said news channel had his full attention now though, previous attempts at sleep forgotten in an instant. He fumbled around with the remote for a few seconds, trying to raise the volume to where he could hear the red-haired reporter filling the screen better.

“...young man was found off the side of the highway, bloody, beaten, and spinning vivid tales of monsters. Reports say the man, whose name has yet to be released, was found on the side of an unmarked road around 6 a.m. this morning. His rescuer asked not to be identified on television.”

The feed flipped over to a very tired looking man who picked up the story from there. A caption on the bottom part of the screen introduced him as Dr. Calhoun, the lead physician on the case.

“The patient arrived this morning suffering from multiple lacerations and severe head trauma. We suspect that the patient may have some form of memory damage because the only information we’ve been able to obtain from him so far are partial ramblings about being carried through the woods by monsters. We’re waiting for lab results and a psych evaluation as we speak.”

Castiel didn’t bother listening to the rest of the story, launching off the couch and onto his feet in search of the brothers. 

Turns out he hadn’t been the only one watching the news.

Sam was already midway through explaining the news coverage by the time he reached the library.

“You think it’s connected?” Dean asked right as he made it through the door.

“It could be, or it could be some random druggie, but it can’t hurt to look into it.”

“I don’t think it’s a random drug addict. There are too many coincidences.” He told them both, earning a look of gratefulness from Sam.

“I agree with him. If this  _ is _ something, we need to get there before anyone else does.”

Dean sighed, “Alright, fine. You are staying here and holding down the fort. You,” he pointed to Castiel, “are coming with me.”

Like before, they were gone and on the road in less than ten minutes, headed for the hospital the victim was being treated at. 

The ride was mostly silent, save for the quiet murmur of classic rock pouring through the speakers.

After they arrived and parked the Impala under one of the few shade trees in the lot, Dean pointed to the glove box in front of Castiel.

“Reach in there and grab the gray box inside. Take the two off the top.”

Castiel did as he was told and retrieved two leather badge holders out of the many stuffed inside. He placed them in Dean’s outstretched hand when prompted and put the box back where he found it.

“Here, this one is yours.” Dean handed him one of the holders back and stuck his own inside his jacket. 

Out of curiosity he flipped his open and gaped at the contents inside. Apparently, sometime over the last few days he’d become a full-fledged FBI agent. 

All of his information that would be required on a badge was there down to the picture of him in his suit pulled straight from his university badge.  

“How…?”

“Charlie can work wonders.” 

When the question remained etched on his face Dean huffed out a laugh. “Look man, in my experience, it’s just better to go with it and be grateful than to try to question it. She’s probably one of the most talented and dangerous people you’ll ever meet.”

“So, basically, don’t get on Charlie’s bad side?” Castiel mused.

Dean nodded.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the gist of it. If any one person could tear the Vampiric government to shreds without lifting more than a finger, it’d be her.”

_ So just imagine what she could do to you. _

“Alright, playing the big bad FBI isn’t too hard if you pay attention. Make sure you open your badge the right way, say the right lines when you need to, and act entitled and you should be just fine. Open your badge like you would if I was an official you needed info from or something.”

Unsure of what exactly Dean wanted, he simply opened it sideways, like a book, and handed it to him. Dean shook his head and handed it back.

“No, like this.” Dean flipped his own open from the top-down, holding it open with a finger before flipping it back closed again.

“Now, show me.”

This time Castiel copied Dean’s movements exactly, deftly opening the badge and making sure the part with his identification was showing on the right side.

If he hadn’t been watching, he would have missed the flash of pink tongue wetting Dean’s bottom lip.

“Good, you’re a natural.”

Castiel suppressed a shiver and glanced away, surveying the building in front of them. It wasn’t a tiny hospital by any means, but it was significantly smaller than the one in Newport.

“I’m willing to bet our guy is on the second level.” Dean commented from beside him, eyeing the line of windows on said level.

He made a noise of agreement.

“Well,” Dean swatted him on the top of his thigh, making him jump and draw in a quick breath, “let’s get this over with.”

Castiel tried to ignore the way the light sting left behind made him feel, as well as the green eyes boring into the side of his head as he swallowed hard.

“Yep. Let’s go.” He agreed again, albeit shakily.

If one thing was for certain, he had to get out of that car right then before he truly embarrassed himself. With that, he all but launched himself out of the Impala, narrowly missing the roof with his head.

It occurred to him as they were walking through the front doors that he hadn’t been in a hospital since being turned. In fact, the last time he’d been inside one was after Balthazar had broken his wrist when he tripped over one of the music sheet stands in his classroom.

Castiel paused for a couple of seconds to gather his bearings and adjust to the new barrage of senses assaulting him.

_ Hundreds _ of heartbeats, beeping monitors, voices -loud and soft, pagers, telephones, and a thousand other unintelligible noises threatened to deafen him.

The light from the acoustic paneling from above bouncing off the array of neutral colors surrounding them was nearly bright enough to blind him. A few nurses bustled about while a handful of people milled about here and there, some wandering around like they were waiting for some sort of news.

A striking combination of rubbing alcohol and citrus disinfectant was potent enough to make him wrinkle his nose. Faintly, under both, he could smell traces of blood from one of the upper floors. 

The taste of all three was both acidic and disgusting.

It was also very cold, even for the waiting area they were sitting in, but he was distracted by the heavy warmth of Dean’s hand landing on his shoulder.

The contrast brought him back to reality in an instant and Castiel took in a large, steadying breath. He nodded away the silent concern etched on Dean’s face and gestured for him to lead the way.

They walked to the front desk together, both grabbing their badges in tandem when they reached it. The dark skinned receptionist manning the desk held up a finger, signaling for them to wait a moment.

She tapped her fingers on the desk beside her while she listened to the voice on the other end of the line, both parties clearly exasperated.

“Ma’am I understand that your husband is uncomfortable but the cream will help with that. There is nothing I can physically do to help.” 

Castiel cast an amused glance Dean’s way. 

“Yes ma’am, I understand that. Like I said, there’s nothing I can do. You have a nice day now, ma’am.” She hung up the phone, cutting off the rest of the woman’s rant.

She sighed and directed her attention to them, plastering on a smile, “How can I help you, gentlemen?”

The two showed her their badges while Dean introduced them.

“Hi, I’m Agent Jackson and this is my partner Agent Jackson, no relation.”

A small snort escaped Castiel, drawing both of their attention. Dean stepped on his foot and gave him a stern look.

“Sorry.” Dean gave her a quick, small smile. “The ‘no relation’ one gets him everytime. We’re with the FBI and we’re here to speak with one of your patients.”

She eyed them both for a moment, “You’re here to see the one that’s been mumbling about monsters all day, aren’t you?”

He nodded, “Yes ma’am.”

She made a small affirmative sound and reached for the small radio attached to her scrub top, “Hey Jones, we have two Feds on the first floor that need to talk to the victim.”

“Roger that, Vanessa. I’ll be down in a minute.” A distorted voice answered back.

“We’re in a bit of a hurry if you don’t mind.” Dean attempted to charm their way out of an escort.

It didn’t work.

“You’re gonna have to wait until Jones gets down here. They aren’t allowing anyone unauthorized in the room, no matter how shiny their badges are.” She told him with a hint of false sweetness.

Thoroughly chastised, Dean gave her a small nod, “Right, well, thank you for your help.”

She made another small noise and went back to her work. 

He and Dean waited patiently at the end of the desk for their escort while Dean quietly cursed Charlie.

“I’m gonna kill her for that one.” He muttered.

Castiel smothered a laugh into his hand.

“No you won’t.”

“Alright Giggles, get it together, our escort is here.” Dean nodded towards the man in a black and grey security uniform walking towards them.

They flashed their badges when prompted and were on their way towards the set of elevators. 

“You boys came a long way for a local crazy.” Jones commented lightly once they were inside the elevator.

Dean seemed to go blank for a minute leaving Castiel to gracefully save him. 

“His story matches another similar one for the case we’re working on. We were in the area when we got the call.”Castiel lied smoothly. 

Jones seemed to buy it and nodded, leading them on when the doors opened. 

The smell of blood was more prominent on this floor making him falter slightly. He swallowed hard and shook his head to clear it then continued on behind Dean.

Their escort pointed them to the right room before settling into the chair across the hall from it. 

Slightly warmer air rushed out of the door when they passed through, then they were alone on one side of the pale green partition separating one half of the room from the other. Castiel pulled back one part of the partition and let Dean go through then followed close behind. 

The victim, a kid that couldn’t have been more than 20 years old, looked small and admittedly frail in the giant hospital bed. He stared at them with wide, cautious eyes, watching them as they made their way closer to him.

For the third time they flashed their badges and introduced themselves.

“We’re here to ask you about what happened to you. Do you mind if I sit?” Dean spoke softly and calmly, trying his best to not freak the kid out.

When he received silent permission, Dean pulled the lone chair closer to the bed and sat down in it, leaving Castiel to take up a position leaning against the wall.

“How about we start with your name, can you tell us that?” 

The kid’s eyes flitted from one of them to the other for a minute before he quietly answered, “Adrian. My name’s Adrian Denton.”

“Good, it’s nice to meet you Adrian. How’re you feeling?”

“Sore. What do the FBI want with me?”

Castiel piped up from his spot on the wall, “We’re working a case and have seen something like this before, but we were hoping we could get your side of the story before we investigated any more leads.”

Adrian tugged on the bed sheets for a moment trying to further hide himself. “You won’t believe me. None of them do, they just think I’m crazy or something.” 

“Well, let’s suspend disbelief for a minute here and say we do believe you. I need you to tell me and my partner here exactly what happened, can you do that?”

“Yeah, yeah I can do that.” He shifted around a little more and began.

“I, uh, started college last year, majoring in engineering. My grandparents, or grandfather I should say now, help pay for my college, so I come up and visit him whenever I can and try to help out as thanks, you know?”

“Anyway, I was only there for the weekend since I had a class Monday and he needed help with some yard work that he couldn’t really do on his own anymore.”

Adrian paused and swallowed hard, “Sunday morning is when it all happened. I was still asleep when I heard the front door open and I thought he might have been wandering out to try and get a headstart on his own. I didn’t want him to get hurt so I got up and dressed to help him…”

“They were already in the house by the time I got downstairs.” A tiny sob escaped Adrian’s throat as he forced the last sentence out. “I hope they killed him quickly and didn’t make him suffer.” 

A sharp and pungent scent clouded the air and burned Castiel’s nose and he was fairly certain that it wasn’t coming from Adrian, leaving Dean to be the source.

On the outside, Dean seemed calm and professional, if not a little detached, but, if one looked close enough, they could see the muscles twitching across his jawline and the white of his knuckles from where he was gripping the chair so hard.

He might have looked calm but, in reality, he was very,  _ very  _ angry.

Castiel cleared his throat and turned his attention back to Adrian, who was furiously wiping at his eyes.

“You said ‘they’, who's they?” He asked him gently.

Adrian laughed bitterly, “Vampires, man.  _ Monsters _ .”

For a moment, Castiel saw himself in the kid lying just a few feet from him. Tragedy left Adrian bitter and resentful and afraid of something bigger and badder than him. Castiel knew the feeling all too well and hoped that Adrian would come around one day like he learned to.

“What makes you think that the people that attacked you were vampires, Adrian?” Dean asked him.

“They had the whole nine going for them, the teeth, the eyes, the speed and strength… what the hell else could they be?”

“Can you explain what you mean by all that?” Dean pushed a little further.

“Well, you know how in the old Dracula movies all the vampires have fangs or whatever you wanna call them? They had those, and their eyes were like this wild silver color. They moved way too fast and strong to be just regular humans, unless they were all Olympic athletes or something.”

“Okay, thank you. You said you made it downstairs and saw the attackers, what happened then?”

“I ran. Didn’t even think about it, I just ran out of the house half-dressed, no shoes, right out into the street.”

Castiel switched his stance against the wall and commented, “I don’t blame you for not wanting to stick around.”

“I wish I felt the same, Mister. Tell me something Agents, have you ever heard a whole town screaming collectively?

He and Dean shared a glance, both knowing the answer to that question.

“It’s not a sound you could ever hope to forget.” Adrian continued, “One thing is for sure, vampire or not, they are really fucking fast when they want to be. They caught me about halfway down the road and beat the hell out of me, and I thought they were going to kill me. At some point I passed out and from then on it was just little snippets fading in and out.”

“Just tell us what you can remember.”

“I remember being carried down the street over someone’s shoulder and people were still screaming. Mrs. Metters was being drug down the street by her hair beside me… she used to send my grandparents pies on Thanksgiving and Christmas…

“The woods were next. It was so quiet then, though. You could only hear the leaves and twigs as people walked over them but it was almost like no one was breathing it was so quiet. It got really fuzzy and cold, then I woke up on the ground alone.

“I made myself get up and walk, just picked a direction and forged on until I found that road and passed out on the side, again. Next thing I knew, I was here. That’s all of it.”

“There’s nothing else you want to add?” Dean asked before turning to Castiel and making a gesture across his hand saying he needed something to write with. 

Castiel pilfered through some of the drawers under the counter beside him and found a legal pad and pen, tossing them both over to Dean while Adrian thought the question over.

“No, I think that’s it, but…” He trailed off and chewed his lip for a second. “Do you think I’m crazy, too?”

Dean paused in his writing and looked at the boy. 

“My job isn’t to decide who’s crazy and who isn’t, Adrian, but, between the three of us, I don’t think you’re crazy. Officially, on the record and all that happy shit, I can tell you that if you ever need anything even if it’s just to talk, call this number. I’ll answer.”

Adrian took the yellow paper when it was offered to him and looked it over.

“Thank you.”

A sudden crash followed by loud shouting outside the room drew all of their attention. 

“You stay here and wrap up with him while I see what’s going on. Mr. Denton, thank you for speaking with us.” Castiel said on his way out the door.

From the sound of it, the commotion was happening over a hallway from where he was standing and was drawing a lot of attention, pulling civilians and staff alike towards it. Jones had even taken off to see what the issue was.

He, too, was going to follow it to the source until something at the end of the hall caught his eye. 

A man was leaning against the far wall watching as people walked past and towards the commotion, almost as if he was waiting for the hall to clear. He turned and made eye contact with Castiel for a few seconds before pushing off the wall and disappearing around the opposite corner from the noise.

The whole interaction seemed off with Castiel, enough that he felt like he had to follow the man, even if it was nothing.

_ Better safe than sorry. _

With that, he took off after the man, trying to keep him in his sight as much as possible. He went for the stairwell instead of the elevator, throwing up more red flags for Castiel.

They continued down, Castiel always a half a flight behind in order to avoid detection, all the way to the bottom basement floor. The man disappeared into one of the rooms along the hallway, ignoring the yellow and red signs outside the door.

Castiel hesitated for a moment since Dean wasn’t with him, but pressed on anyway. He couldn’t chance letting someone potentially important get away from him.

So, he followed the man through the door. 

The first thing Castiel noticed was how dark it was inside the room and how sharply it contrasted against the previous brightness he’d been surrounded by.

Next came the absolutely foul chemical smell that threatened to make his stomach turn.

Finally, the flash of silver metal coming from his left.

He deflected the blade with his arm without thinking, hissing when it sliced through his flesh. He managed to knock the knife out of his assailant’s hand with his other hand, only to be blindsided into the wall the next second. 

The fire extinguisher box bolted to the wall rattled violently against the force of their collective weight slamming into it, jamming the handle into the middle of Castiel’s back. 

He struggled to catch his breath while his ribs were being battered but accomplished getting both of his arms free so he could throw both elbows into the center of the man’s back. The action gave him enough leverage to knee him in the sternum and kick him off as well. 

Equilibrium lost, the man fell back and slid a few feet across the concrete floor, giving Castiel time to recover.

The two met in the middle, Castiel dodging the first punch thrown but not the second. He returned the blow with a sharp uppercut and another kick to the stomach, knocking the man back into the row of counters behind them.

Fatigue and pain were beginning to make him lag, so he didn’t have the presence to react to the headbutt that was landed until it was too late. Thoroughly dazed by the explosion of pain, Castiel was easily thrown into the row of shelves holding multiple glass objects.

He landed on his back amongst the chaos of raining glass and metal, left to stare at the dark ceiling for a few seconds before his vision was obscured by a bloody and silver eyed vampire, entirely set on killing him.

_ Dammit.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like it? Let us know!
> 
> ~K & J


	25. Twenty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are so sorry that this chapter took so long to be released! Life has been full of personal issues, not so fun health issues, moving, and the holidays. But... here we are! We will try to get the next chapter out a lot sooner!

It wasn’t until there was a head rolling across the floor and blood, warm and sticky, embedded underneath his fingernails that he felt it. 

Small feather-like touches, just enough to catch his attention, tickled at the base of his spine, emanating an increasing amount of distress.

Foreign, yet familiar, the sensation alerted Dean immediately.

His mate, Castiel, was in trouble.

Even through the weak link of a half-mate, Dean could still feel how terrified and furious Castiel was. 

The tiny broom closet he’d managed to shove his attacker in, who also happened to be the source of the commotion that drew Castiel away, offered little to cover up his mess with. With sparse grace or sympathy, he stowed the remains in the corner as best he could and wiped his hands and blade hastily on a nearby dust rag. He locked and jammed the door best he could behind him, hoping that it bought Castiel and him enough time to get out and call a crew.

Distress became more and more prominent as the seconds ticked on and Dean found himself scenting the air, trying to find the scant scent that would lead him to Castiel. 

With a scent and a weak link to follow, Dean moved as fast as he could without gaining copious amounts of attention. He flat out sprinted when the door to the stairwell closed behind him, half sliding down the railings in an attempt to move faster.

The scent as well as the amount of distress grew stronger when he hit the bottom basement floor and he tracked it all the way to a poorly labeled room. He ignored the only two stickers on the door, warning of some biohazard, and threw it open. 

Amidst the utter chaos of the dark room, Dean could see two figures and the one on top was definitely  _ not  _ Castiel.

The sight seemed to awaken something deep down in Dean’s protective vampiric instincts because his vision instantly filled with red,  _ literally _ .

Dean had never had such a thing happen to him but a low snarl was the only warning the other vampire got before Dean was on him. In a flurry of snapping teeth and growls he yanked the vamp off of Castiel and threw him against the opposite wall.

Dean gave him no time to recover, delivering several sharp blows to the man’s face before unsheathing his machete once again. 

The sound of a head hitting the floor followed by its body was the only thing that could be heard for several moments. He inhaled a long breath through his mouth and blew it out his nose, trying to clear his head a bit before turning back to Castiel.

Castiel looked dazed and in pain from his spot on the floor, but, as much as Dean wanted to help him right then, they had to get out of there.

He offered a hand to him and hauled him off the floor, slinging Castiel’s arm around his shoulder. The two hobbled out the room, again locking and jamming the door behind them, and made their way for the emergency exit down the hall. 

They emerged out into the back parking lot of the hospital and stopped for a moment. Dean carefully propped Castiel up on the wall next to them and dug his cellphone out of his pocket. 

He hit the name on the top of his contacts list and waited for it to ring.

Blessedly, Ash answered on the second ring. 

“You’re a lucky man, Dean. You caught me right before I took my little siesta.” Ash yawned through the phone.

Dean glanced at the time on his phone and did a little calculation, “Ash… it’s nine in the morning where you are.”

“Your point being…?”

“My point- just, never mind, look, I need a cleanup crew and fast.”

Not unlike Charlie, Ash’s whole demeanor changed in a heartbeat.

“On it, buddy.”

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief, “Need my location?”

“What am I, an amateur? Already got it.”

“There’s a body in the second floor broom closet, left wing, and one in a room on the basement floor. The door has red and yellow biohazard stickers on it. Both are locked and jammed as best as I could manage.”

“Ten-four.”

“Thanks, Ash.”

“It’s my job, Dean-o. Tell your brother I said ‘Hi’.”

They both disconnected the call and Dean stowed away his cell again. He drug Castiel, who wasn’t looking so great, off the wall and towards the Impala.

“C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

Progress towards the car was slow, since he half-dragged, half-carried Castiel all the way there, and they both seemed immensely relieved to be back in her confines. 

Dean fired her up and peeled out of the parking lot as quickly as possible.

Castiel leaned against the glass of the window, purposely trying to keep his back off the seat. Dean stole a glance and grit his teeth at the sight of Castiel’s back, bloody and shredded. His shirt was in tatters and soaked with God only knew what.

“Hang on for a couple more miles, okay?”

He got a pained moan in response.

The couple of miles seemed to stretch on forever as the scent of blood and Castiel’s pain grew stronger. Dean knew why his pain was increasing as well. His body was trying to reject the foreign objects embedded in his back as well as burn away whatever chemicals might have seeped into the wounds, which was painful on its own, but even moreso since he was a young vamp and his body wasn’t accustomed to such stress.

Finally, he spotted an old, abandoned patch of dirt off the side of the road, grown over with weeds and partially shaded by trees. He guided the Impala off the road and onto the patch, putting her in park and cutting her off. 

He told Castiel to stay put and climbed out, rounded the front of the car, and gently opened the passenger door. 

A mixture of blood and harsh smelling chemicals soaked the back of Castiel’s shredded shirt. 

Castiel himself was still as ashen and shaky as he’d been at the hospital. A part of Dean really didn’t want to put him through any more pain, but something had to be done about the crimson glittering shards that he could see poking out of the remnants of his shirt.

Together, they peeled the shirt off of Castiel, drawing another low, pained moan from him.

For a moment, every thought in Dean's mind came to a screaming stop. 

Beneath the crimson wash of blood, obscured by dozens of holes from the glass, was miles of black ink. He couldn't quite make out the depiction just yet due to the literal mess of his back but he knew that whatever it was spanned from the blades of Castiel’s shoulders nearly to the waistband of his jeans. 

The smell of nervousness and absolute pain began to radiate off of Castiel in force.

Every thought in Dean's head went straight back into overdrive, and the primary objective was to fix his mate and make his pain disappear. 

He started with the bigger pieces and tried to be as deft and nimble as possible with each shard extracted, but he really didn't know who was shaking more at one point. Castiel, from the pain and trying his best to stay silent and still, or himself, from the wave after wave of agony he could feel roll off of his mate.

Once all of the large pieces were out and tossed off into the grass, he paused. 

“We have two options here:,” he mused, “wait until we get back to the the house so your body will further reject the embedded pieces, which will mean being in constant pain until then, or, dig them out now. Digging for them now will be even more painful but for a shorter time.”

“Now.” The hoarse reply came instantly, not a trace of hesitation to be found in Castiel’s voice.

Decision made, Dean instructed him to pull the small lever under the steering column which would open the trunk. He watched his mate stretch across the bench seat in search for said lever, both appreciating the bloodied, glorious view and wincing at Castiel's small groan.

He made quick work of retrieving a few bottles of water from the supply he had stashed, leaving the trunk open in case he needed something else. 

As wonderful as the view was, he wasn't going to make Castiel stretch across the seat again.

Dean unscrewed the cap on one of the bottles, warned Castiel, and began washing away the blood and chemicals still left on his back.

The more he rinsed away, the more of the mysterious tattoo was revealed and the clearer it became.

Dean had seen this symbol before.

Immediately, the memory of the box tucked away in Castiel's closet surfaced at the forefront of his mind. The symbol emblazoned on top, a soaring dragon with wide spread wings, matched the one before him, covering the entirety of Castiel's back. Only, this dragon had multiple series of bold lines and curves surrounding it. He couldn't be completely sure, but he'd dare say it looked like Hebrew.

Out of respect for his mate, he didn't pry about the meaning and origins, choosing to keep his curiosity and awe to himself.

Once he could see what he was doing, Dean set the bottle aside, and picked his first target.

“Deep breath.” He cautioned before digging for the shard.

Castiel's hand shot out and grabbed the dash bar in front of them and white knuckled it, but he didn't make a sound.

Dean's fingers sought out the glass and quickly removed it. A sigh of relief echoed between the both of them.

For the second time, Dean found himself entranced. The fresh, untainted crimson staining his fingers smelled  _ divine _ and he ached to taste it.

A dilemma struck up in Dean's brain.

Castiel's head was turned away for the moment, so he wouldn't see the offense…

No. 

He was determined not to freak his mate out anymore than he may already have.

Instead, he asked, “Ready?”

For several minutes the process continued and the pile grew little by little.

A small whimper finally escaped Castiel on a particularly deep piece, instantly drawing a responding coo from himself. 

“Shh, sweetheart, it's okay. Just breathe for me.”

Per usual, neither mentioned the endearment that slipped from him, and from then on he kept up a stream of comfort as he forged on.

After an eternity of digging, he extracted the last fragment and tossed it aside.

He picked up another bottle and washed away the fresh blood again, watching as the remaining holes sewed themselves together.

Clear of blood and wounds, Castiel's tattoo was even more breathtaking and he found himself subconsciously tracing the intricate lines with his fingers softly.

A small hitch in Castiel's breath drew his attention and he looked up into silvery-blue eyes.

Again, nothing was said, but the silence was not empty. With one last sweep of his hand across Castiel's back, he stood up and went back to the trunk. 

He tossed the empty bottles in and dug around until he found what he needed- an old and worn t-shirt.

Carefully, he helped Castiel into his shirt, and tried not to smile at how it hung off him a bit. He also tried to ignore the fact that it would soak Castiel in his scent the whole way home as well.

He was pretty pleased with that fact.

With one last meaningful look at his mate, he shut the door and circled the car once again.

Dean handed his cellphone over once inside the Impala.

“Call Sam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed this chapter! Let us know what you thought?
> 
> ~K & J


	26. Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

Castiel would find the rhythmic scratching of Dean's pen across paper soothing if he wasn't so on edge. He shifted on the couch in Dean's office where he had been curled most of the day.

Castiel found himself wanting, no _needing_ , to be in close proximity to Dean as of late. Strangely, he hurt less that way.

It had been about a week since the hospital incident that left him semi crippled. They hadn't talked about it, but he knew they had to eventually.

No time better than the present, right?

“Dean, can we talk about the hospital?”

The scribbling stopped and Dean looked up, “Sure.”

He picked at the underside of his nail for several moments before meeting Dean’s gaze again.

“I’m sorry. Profusely so, actually. What I did was extremely reckless and I shouldn’t have run off without you, but I just didn’t want what could have possibly been our only lead slip away. I just wanted to help and…” A slight sniffle escaped him, “I just ended up making things worse.”

Dean rose from his desk just as his breath was hitching in his throat. He didn’t mean to be this upset, but finally talking about it seemed to let the gravity of the situation come crashing down on him. 

Castiel tensed when Dean crouched in front of him and settled a warm hand on his knee. He swallowed hard and looked away, somewhat afraid, but not necessarily of Dean.

“Look at me.” The command was soft.

He did.

There was an infinite amount of wisdom and compassion in those jade depths, and a small amount of his fear was quelled. 

“What you did was reckless, yes. It was extremely dangerous and could have turned out much worse than what it did.”

Castiel looked away again and Dean squeezed his knee, silently demanding his eyes.

“Even though it was reckless, I am extremely proud that you took the immediate initiative, even if it meant you getting hurt in the process. You saved Adrian’s life by helping me eliminate the threat towards him. We moved him to a safer and more secure hospital until he can heal completely and he will live a long and healthy life under our watch.”

“Do not doubt that you made a difference the other day, but you scared me quite a bit, not many people can do that. I almost lost you before I even got the chance…” Dean paused, sighing deeply, “Look that doesn’t even matter. What does matter is that you are safe and not hurt.”

The myriad of emotions that flickered across Dean’s face as he spoke settled Castiel’s fear and began to form an idea in his head.

“Teach me.” He said quietly.

The perplexed look on Dean’s face prompted him further.

“Teach me how to fight.”

“Are you sure?”

Castiel nodded sullenly, “I’m positive. I will not be a liability to you or Sam any longer.

“Castiel, you are not a liability. Don’t ever say that.” Dean’s voice managed to be soft and hard all at once.

The point came across loud and clear but Castiel didn’t find himself taken aback by it.

“Okay. That doesn’t change my decision, though.” He agreed.

Dean sat back on his heels a bit before continuing, “I won’t lie to you, this will hurt, as all combat training normally does. Good news is, it’s been cleaned up a bit since Sam and I were taught.”

Castiel quirked an eyebrow, “How so?”

He got a small laugh in return.

“Samsquatch and I, when we were strapping young men, spent roughly five years with a group of monks in Southeast Asia, getting the shit beat out of us with everything known to man. Most of the time they were ‘sticks’ that were as big as my arm.” 

Dean held out his arm for emphasis and Castiel blanched at the thought.

“Luckily for you though, we don’t have to do that. You’re going to learn how to take a hit, but not via a tree trunk. Sam will work with you on your flexibility with his weird acro-yoga-gymnastics stuff and I’ll do the heavy lifting with teaching you how to fight. Scared yet?”

Castiel gave him a grim smile of sorts, “Not in the slightest. When do we start?”

 

~~~

 

Dean had finished up his paperwork, told Sam where they were going, and loaded them both up into the Impala, speeding off.

Now they stood on the outskirts of Newport on a small outcrop of rock that looked over the ocean. The ground, illuminated by a pale moon and a nearby street lamp, was uneven and jagged in places, making for difficult footing, but Dean assured him that they were in the correct spot.

“You’re not always going to have flat ground or padded floors to fight on. Always be prepared for any kind of terrain. If you know there’s a possibility of a fight, wear the right footwear that’s going to help give you an advantage. Boots are a good choice here.”

“Is that rule number one?” He asked dryly

“Nope. Rule number one is never underestimate your opponent and always fight dirty. Fighting like a gentlemen will do nothing but get you killed.” Dean told him sternly.

“Noted.”

“You’ll learn the rest of the rules along the way, but, for now, think of this as a… pretest. We’re going to assess your skills and see what areas need improvement.”

“What a scholarly explanation, Dean.” Castiel said flatly.

Dean beamed at him, “Making connections with someone’s personal life is an effective teaching method, Professor.”

Castiel resolutely ignored what his title, when elegantly tripped off Dean’s tongue, did to his insides.

“Alright, time to get to business.” Dean rubbed his hands together. “Hit me.”

He did a double take, “What?”

“You heard me. Sock me.”

“Um. I don’t-  _ ow _ !” Castiel staggered back a few feet, holding his nose. Dean had hit him in the nose before he could even finish his sentence.

“C’mon Castiel, _you gotta_ _get angry, get mean!_ ” Dean teased.

He huffed, stepped up and swung, landing a hit on Dean’s jaw. It was like hitting a concrete barrier and Dean barely moved. 

“You’re not even trying. Again.” 

Castiel swung a little harder this time, but again, Dean remained in the same place. Again, he hit him trying to put more force behind each blow.

The more hits that landed, the angrier he got, the harder he punched. 

“A twelve year old could take you down at this rate, Cas!” Dean barked at him.

A low growl broke loose from his chest and he swung again, putting all the force he had behind it. His fist connected with Dean’s jaw and pain radiated from his knuckles outwards. Dean staggered back, just as he himself had done before.

Castiel, now furious, tried to swing again, but was caught and flipped around with an arm tight around his throat and his back to Dean’s chest.

“ _My name is Castiel_.” He growled.

Hot breath against the shell of his ear sent a shiver racing down his spine as Dean spoke lowly to him. “Prove it.”

He found himself released and facing Dean once again.

“Now that you’re done play fighting and will actually hit, put your guard up. Granny with her walking cane could hit you from a mile away right now.” Dean put up his fists and adjusted his stance. “Mirror me. Fists up, thumbs out, dominant foot behind the other.”

Castiel followed through and assumed stance, and, without warning, Dean advanced on him. 

He managed to block the first two hits before getting hit in the chest. 

“Tighten up that blocking. You’ve got the right idea.” Dean simultaneously praised and critiqued.

They went another round, this time with Castiel managing to counter one of Dean’s strikes and land a hit.

“That’s it, don’t play nice. Remember, I’m the scary vamp that’s out to make sure your head rolls.” 

Round after round they went, trading blows, battling not only arms and legs but unseen rocks and crevices. 

Finally, after Castiel had been swept off his feet for the sixth time, Dean called it quits for the night.

He helped Castiel up and brushed some of the dirt off his shoulder.

“Sun’s coming up, we better head back home. We’ve got a lot to work on, but it’s a start.” 

Together they made their way back to the Impala, Dean’s firm hand on his arm to steady him. A familiar scent drifted through the air just as they were a few hundred yards from the car, making Castiel’s head turn, but just as quick as it had come, it disappeared again.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded, “Yes, just thought I smelled something familiar.”

“We’ll work on honing in your smelling skills soon.” Dean told him.

Although unnecessary, Castiel let Dean open his door for him like a proper gentlemen that didn’t just beat the shit out of him.

After sitting down, Castiel realized how tired he was and rested his head against the window while Dean got in and started the car. He studied his reflection for a few minutes as they left town, frowning at the bruises and crusted blood scattered across his face.

They drove back in relative silence, leaving the soft music crooning from the radio to fill the air as he watched the sun rise and blaze across the horizon.

Dean stopped the Impala in front of the house when they got back and put the car in park.

A long and meaningful look was shared between them before the tiny, rebellious part of Castiel’s brain took control and hit the ‘fuck it’ button. 

He threw himself across the small space of the car and straddled Dean’s lap in a crash of lips. Having taken him by surprise, Dean quickly followed suit and grabbed at him, pulling him closer until not even air could fill the space between them. 

The intensity of their shared heat made sweat roll down his spine and only served to spur him on even further.

“Cas.” Dean called out his name softly, making him whine in response.

“Cas.” A little louder this time.

“ _ Cas! _ ” 

Castiel jolted awake, slamming his head against the window in his haste to crawl away from Dean’s grip on his arm. 

Across from him, Dean was hemmed up in the farthest possible corner of the Impala, eyes blazing silver. It was obvious that he was trying to take slow and controlled breaths through his mouth.

“I am so sorry.” He managed to choke out before flinging himself out of the vehicle, not even bothering to shut the door behind him.

Castiel flew into the house, aiming straight for the kitchen and nearly bowling over Sam in the process. He went to the refrigerator, pointedly ignoring Sam’s concerned gaze and dug out a bag of blood. 

He tore it open and dumped it into the first glass available, skipping warming it up and taking greedy gulps of it.

In the distance he heard the door coming from the garage close and footsteps coming their way. Castiel quickly escaped the back way out of the kitchen with his glass, heading for the Great Room in order to avoid Dean.

_ Coward. _

He scolded himself in the middle of the Great Room, clutching his glass and staring into the crimson liquid it held as if it had an answer.

_ To what? _

That he didn’t know.

He didn’t ponder over it long because the doorbell was ringing.

Castiel didn’t attempt to answer it, instead letting Dean stride over to the door and yank it open frustratedly. 

And that’s when the gunshot came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah... dreams are so lovely aren't they? ;)
> 
> Like it? Let us know!


	27. Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

The screaming echo resounded throughout the entire house, ringing incessantly in Castiel’s ears, and for a moment, the house stood deafeningly silent.

Before the thought had even fully formed in his head, Castiel was vaulting over the couch and sprinting for the door, leaving his glass to shatter behind him. 

Sam beat him by mere milliseconds, pinning the gun toting assailant against the wall, hard enough to rattle the adornments around them.

Hidden instinct had him prying Sam away with a snarl, ready to bludgeon whomever dared to attack Dean. With his body acting ahead of his brain, it took a moment for the two to come together again and realize that he knew the assailant.

“Balthazar?”

His friend gave him a panicky smile and squirmed a bit in his hold.

“Hello, Cassie. Say, do me a quick favor and loosen the grip a bit, yeah? You’re breaking me.” His voice was laced with a hint of fear, but otherwise the same it had always been.

Castiel heard a slight shift to his left and turned his head slowly. Hannah stood there as well, not quite hiding her fear as well as Balth. He loosened his grip on his friend, only to drag both into the Great Room by the arm, Winchesters following. 

He released both of them and pointed to the couch.

“Sit.”

He turned his back on them and ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. Dean stood in front of him, chest slowly leaking blood, and the sight ignited a whole other level of anger in him.

Castiel spun on his heel and leveled his two friends with an outright furious gaze.

“What in the actual fuck is wrong with you two?”

Balthazar visibly bristled, “We could ask the same of you.”

“Why are you here?” He asked lowly,

“Why are you?” Balth shot back.

“ _ Balthazar. _ ”

“ _ Castiel. _ ”

Hannah stood quickly between them and he felt the brothers instinctively move closer. He held up a hand to halt them, and, surprisingly, it worked.

“We were worried about you.” She said softly, trying to ease the tension in the room.

“So you broke in  _ with a gun _ ?”

She threw a sharp look at Balthazar before turning back to him.

“You were hurt and we wanted to get you back safely. So, Balth decided to bring one with us, but I didn’t think we had any intention of using it.” The last part was clearly directed at Balthazar. 

It made him slightly nostalgic.

It reminded him of the days when they quipped and bickered on the regular. Those days were gone though, and now wasn’t a time to reminisce.

“Well, I’m clearly fine, now. You can stop worrying.”

“Are you, Cassie? I mean, have you seen your eyes?” Balthazar asked softly.

He threw a quick glance at one of the many reflective surfaces and saw that his eyes were ablaze with silver. Castiel closed his eyes and sighed.

“If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me.” He said quietly.

“With your eyes a glittering and this bloke over here bleedin’ out of his chest but acting like a kitten scratched him, I’d say we garner at least a try.” Balthazar told him firmly.

Castiel laughed humorlessly and looked at Dean for an answer.

“It’s your call. This could end right now, no more questions. If you believe they can be trusted, then tell them, but the very moment I even get an  _ inkling  _ that they can’t be, it’s over.”

He nodded, took in a deep breath, and thought it over.

Before him were his only friends from his past life, truly the best ones he’d ever had. They’d stuck with him, year after year, even when he’d been at his worst. They’d never asked for more detail than what he’d given them about his family, what happened or why. They accepted that something bad had happened and had left it.

Castiel slowly let out the breath he’d been holding and made his decision.

He drug one of the nearby chairs over in front of the two and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. Behind him, the brothers settled in, Sam on his left, Dean his right.

Then, he began.

“The night that we went to the bar together… my house wasn’t broken into. Well, it was, but it wasn’t for the purpose of being robbed. Two people, a man and a woman, attacked me, nearly killing me in the process.”

“If hadn’t been for Dean intervening when he did, I’d be dead, without a shadow of a doubt.” He paused and gathered his thoughts.

In a way, telling them this was also his way of accepting the reality, once and for all. He owed Dean his life, and he’d been nothing but ungrateful from the moment he opened his eyes and saw a million dust particles float in front of them. He had his reasons, no doubt, but maybe it was time to start changing his tune.

Castiel would decide on that later.

“I was injured horribly… fatally injured, actually, but Dean brought me back here and fixed me.”

“Fixed you?” Balthazar asked incredulously.

Castiel nodded.

“I turned him into one of us, in order to save his life.” Dean spoke from behind him.

“Turned you into what, Castiel?”

“A vampire.”

Silence filled the air for several long moments before Balth scoffed.

“Vampire, huh? Do we look like grade schoolers, Cassie? That’s ridiculous. I can’t-”

Hannah put a hand on him and stopped his rant.

“He’s serious, Balth.”

Balthazar looked at her as if she too had lost every bit of her sense.

“You can’t believe this, Han. It’s insane!”

“Look.” She pointed to the mess that he’d left in the floor earlier, then to the trio, and Castiel thumbed at his incisors to draw them out, and felt his eyes change with them again.

Something told him that the Winchesters had done the same.

“Is that blood there on the floor?”

“Donated blood, yes.” Dean answered, putting a slight emphasis on the word  _ donated _ .

A small gasp left Balthazar before he slumped back into the couch. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, you  _ are  _ serious.”

“The ones that attacked you, were they vampires, too?” Hannah asked.

“Yes.”

She nodded sagely.

“I can imagine that it’s obvious, but this isn’t something that you can go telling anyone else.” 

“This isn’t a playground secret.” Dean interjected. “This could get us all killed if so much as a word is breathed to anyone. Don’t tell your mother, brother, cat, houseplant, etcetera. No one is told or I’ll personally hunt you both down and make sure you never remember even meeting Castiel.”

“What, are you going to beat it out of us?” Balthazar asked snidely.

“No need to. You see, vampires come equipped with a nifty dose of toxin that makes humans very susceptible to suggestion. One quick bite and you won’t even remember your name.” Dean’s voice was low and deadly and absolutely serious.

Castiel also made a note to ask Dean about this new revelation.

“Castiel.” Hannah’s voice drew him back again. “This is all confusing and scary and forgive us since we aren’t sure how to react just yet, but I need you to know something. We would never intentionally put you in danger like that. Regardless of the situation, we’re still your friends, we’re still here for you. If you don’t think we can be trusted then call it right now, no hard feelings. Leave us behind if you need to.”

He looked at her, studying her light eyes, and knew she was telling the truth and nothing but.

“No. I couldn’t leave you behind.”

A smile broke out across her face.

“Thank you.”

~~~

About an hour later, after many questions, the pair left and the house was theirs again.

Sam disappeared back into the kitchen without a word, leaving he and Dean to themselves. The wound on Dean’s chest no longer bled, but it was festering and angry looking.

“The bullet is still there. I didn’t want to freak them out any more.” Dean explained.

Mimicking his earlier actions, he grabbed Dean by the arm and sat him on the couch. He examined the hole, relieved to find that the bullet had mostly pushed itself to the surface and wouldn’t be hard to extract.

“You did exceptionally well earlier.” Dean told him. “You were around two humans and never once even batted an eye. That takes an immense amount of control at your age and, for that, I’m very proud.”

Castiel could feel a slight blush creep up his cheeks before he uttered a small “thank you.” 

Placing a soothing hand on Dean’s arm, he pried the wound open a little more and grabbed the hard metal hull, tugging it out with a light wet sound.

A small sigh left Dean and Castiel found himself echoing it.

“There, all fixed up.” He said quietly.

He found himself trapped in Dean’s inquisitive gaze before speaking.

“I’m sorry about earlier… in the car. I shouldn’t have fallen asleep and put you in that position and-”

“Stop apologizing, Castiel.” Dean told him, and Castiel stopped in his tracks.

“What happened earlier isn’t anything that hasn’t happened to me, or Sam, or anyone else on this godforsaken planet. It’s alright, I promise.”

Dean squeezed his wrist where his hand was still touching him and gave him a wry smile.

“Go get something to eat while I clean up this mess on the carpet here.” He commanded.

Castiel cast a remorseful glance at the shattered glass still glittering on the floor, soaked in sticky blood.

He thought about arguing, or at least apologizing, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

So, he stood, and with a small huff of laughter at Dean’s pointed look, left and did as he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	28. Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ~K & J

The cafe Charlie had picked for them was small and sat nestled in the heart of Providence. It was small enough to be cozy but big enough not to feel stuffy, its style caught somewhere between rustic and retro.

Sam found it charming, with the sunshine yellow walls glowing in the midday sun and the wooden furniture rough under his fingertips.

He’d been careful as ever on the drive over. The last trip made him rightfully cautious. 

So now he sat with his back against the wall, a steaming cup of the house’s specialty blend warming his hands. Oddities hung among the cafe walls and he studied them acutely between sips of coffee that he could not taste.

Sam had arrived about ten minutes early, so when the clock struck one o’clock on the dot, he spotted a familiar mop of red hair through the front window.

Charlie had a thing for punctuality.

He stood when she entered, smiling broadly at her and her companion. 

Gilda, Charlie’s mate, was a sweetheart in every sense of the word. Her dark eyes were always filled with warmth, a common thing that Sam had noticed among mated couples, but Gilda… she stood out. 

She was loose but confident, walked with a slight skip in her step, and was almost always smiling. 

Like now.

Gilda met him with open arms, smelling of honeyed oats and wildflowers. Her scent was strangely specific, but comforting in a motherly sort of way. She squeezed him tightly and kissed his cheek.

He was passed to Charlie next, the scent switching to sunflowers and morning dew. 

Sam politely gestured to his cup of coffee when Gilda asked if he’d like something to drink, and watched her bounce away and to the counter with their own orders.

Charlie was already busy with unpacking her computer, but something seemed off about her. Sam didn’t ask, not with Gilda within hearing distance.

It could wait, but Sam didn’t care for the look that clouded Charlie’s green eyes. 

Gilda returned with their coffees and sat next to her mate, opposite Sam.

“It’s so good to see you well, Sam. I heard about the car accident and I am so glad you’re okay.” Gilda said to him.

“Believe me, I’m glad that I’m okay, too.” 

“What a pretty day it is outside. Sunshine and a few clouds, it’s a shame most of our kind still don’t see this time of day often.” She rambled, gazing out the window.

That was another thing Sam liked about her. Conversations with her could take you everywhere and nowhere, all at once. It was refreshingly light and it made her the perfect counterpart for Charlie. 

Speaking of, she was watching Gilda gaze out the window, with a sort of fond sadness that he was sure that he wasn’t supposed to see.

They talked aimlessly for awhile, about everything and nothing, before Gilda announced her needed departure.

She stood and combed her fingers through Charlie’s hair. 

“I’m going to leave you to do your super genius work and see how the soup kitchen in the city is. Sam, say hi to Dean and… Castiel, am I saying that right? That’s such a wonderful name.” She kissed them both on the top of the head, and then she was gone.

Charlie watched her disappear into the sunlight and kept her gaze out the window for long after.

Silence reigned between he and one of his oldest friends.

He let it hang, patiently.

One thing he’d learned in his long years, is that someone will tell you their life’s troubles if you wait long enough, especially in the case of his brother.

Charlie sighed and met his eyes.

“Hi, Sam.” It was the first she’d spoken the whole time and she sounded so very tired.

“Hi, Charlie.”

“You know, I love that woman. A lot. A lot more than I think anyone has the right to love anyone else.”

“Yeah, I know. I can tell you it’s mutual, if it’s all the same to you.” He tried to assure her. Something was wrong and he could feel it, but he’d be damned if he wouldn’t at least try to help.

“I know she does, Sam. That’s what scares me.”

Sam didn’t answer, just let Charlie choose her words carefully.

“I’ve been all over this continent in the last few months, bouncing from place to place, chasing after ghost towns and clues. That one we found? I thought I’d finally find some answers, but all I got was a head full of worries.”

He watched her take a sip of her coffee.

“This thing that’s happening, Sam? It’s so much bigger than what we’re currently seeing. I just know it. It feels like we’re a small piece of the giant puzzle that is falling into place. My sole job is to know things, to know everything, but in this case, I’ve got nothing. I am so afraid that it’s going to get me,” She looked back over her shoulder, out the window again, “Or her, killed. We don’t really have a home, we’re on the road so much, so who will protect us when we go knocking on the wrong door?”

Sam took her hand and gave it a squeeze. 

“Your home is always with us, Charlie. Dean and I won’t let anything happen to you or Gilda. You know that.”

She sniffed and gave him a sad smile, “You two have always looked out for me. I guess it is kinda offensive for me to think that you two would do otherwise, huh?”

He grinned at her, “None taken.”

Charlie wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand and straightened up. There was a glimmer of a smile returning to her eyes.

“Let’s stop feeling sorry for me and get down to business, shall we?”

She opened the laptop between them and clicked haphazardly around the home page, opening several different tabs for them to look at. Charlie pulled up a silent, grainy black-and-white video and pressed play.

“I managed to pull some CCTV footage from a local convenience store near the site of your crash. There isn’t a whole lot to go on, except for your badassery.” She punched him on the shoulder.

“But,” She continued, “ _ coincedently _ , there was one face that I managed to get a semi-clear shot of.”

They watched the video quietly, recounting the events of the crash, which Sam could feel in his bones as if it happened yesterday. Then watched the short fight that transpired afterwards.

Near the end of the video, just before the clip cut off, the one that managed to get away from him turned towards the camera.

“Did you catch that? Here.” 

Charlie rewound the video by a few frames and left it on the shot of the man turning around, then enlarged the image and cleaned it up with the click of a button.

Sam didn’t recognize the man, other than being one of his attackers, but requested that Charlie send the enhanced photo to Dean, just in case.

While they waited for a response, they talked about the vehicles that’d been used.

“In my digging I, unsurprisingly, found that both of the attackers’ vehicles were stolen and the plates removed. Professional work, if only they hadn’t underestimated you.”

Sam didn’t get much chance to get hot cheeked over the compliment before his phone was chiming.

The text from Dean said that the same man that had attacked Sam, had also been the very one that they’d killed at the hospital.

“He’s absolutely sure?” Charlie asked.

“Dean and Cas both confirmed that it was the same guy.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why attack you, then try to kill a straggler from a raided town a few weeks later? There’s no correlation, unless…”

“The same person ordered both jobs.” He finished for her.

“This kind of confirms the whole ‘this is bigger than us’ theory, doesn’t it.” She stated, more than asked.

His phone chimed again, another message from Dean saying that he was going to get the image circulating via Benny and track the guy down. It would probably take a few days.

Sam relayed the message to Charlie and sat back, running his hands through his hair. 

“Well,” Charlie started, “now all we can do is wait for Benny to get back to Dean. Speaking of, how are he and Castiel getting along?”

Sam snorted.

“They’re currently doing the most laboriously awkward mating dance I think I have ever seen. They’re worse than White-Fronted Parrots.”

Charlie threw her head back and laughed, a real, genuine laugh. It made Sam feel infinitely better since the moment she’d walked in the door, and he found himself chuckling right along with her.

The conversation morphed into what he thought of Castiel after that.

“Cas… he’s a weird guy, don’t get me wrong, but he’s just so… genuine, you know? He hasn’t quite opened up all the way to us just yet, which I don’t blame him for, but I can tell he’s been through more than he lets on. He’s extremely intelligent, in a way that is kind of difficult to understand sometimes. And he is, without a doubt, the most in-touch person with their emotions, I think I may have ever met.”

“Is that a good thing?” Charlie asked, bemused. 

“I think so. I think it will be good for Dean, to be countered with someone who isn’t afraid of their emotions, like he is. I think it will help him, a lot. Especially, after… well, you know.”

He made a vague gesture with his hand and Charlie nodded.

They talked more afterwards about all sorts of things before finally saying goodbye.

He hugged her tight once more.

“Don’t be afraid. You always have a home with us.” He reiterated.

She left in search of her mate and Sam was, again, alone.

He tipped the barista, who had sat unaware of their conversations on the far side of the cafe, took his cold, tasteless coffee, and left as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> ~K & J

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